LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
TS to 5"q 

Chap. . Copyright No. 



ShettJOX-T+Tl 7 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



DRIFTWOOD, 



by y 

ADDIE L. BALLOU 




SAN FRANCISCO 

THE HICKS-JUDD COMPANY 

23 First Street 

1899 



I 



Copyrighted, 1896, 
ADDIE L. BALLOU, 



All Rights Reserved. 
V£D. 








ADDIE L. BALLOU 



®o Py ©Wltton, and— 

To those who suffer long and wait, 
Who climb, and fall, and rise again, 

Who bow before imperious fate, 
But bravely court her happier vein ; 

To those whose lifted hands implore 
Heaven's guidance o'er the rugged way ; 

Who shrink when tempests round them roar, 
But steadfast wait the rising day ; 

To humble hearts along life's shore 

Who garner what the sea upheaves, 
I'dedicate in broken lore, 

With loving trust, these " Driftwood " leaves. 

The Author. 



CONTENTS. 



A PAGE 

A Cabin Home i«5 

Acrostic 13 1 

Acrostic on a Blotter 61 

A Fragment 77 

After the Battle 1 . 95 

A Mi Quierido 74 

A Modern Peri r8o 

"And a Little Child Shall Lead Them " 102 

Autograph 145-220 

Autograph Lines 73-85-170-215 

B 

Be Reconciled 76 

C 

Chancellorsville 199 

Columbia 8 9 

Compensation l 3 2 

Contentment 229 

D 

Dada's Man 68 

Dead in His Bed 52 

Dedication, Washington Hall T 7i 

F 

Four-leaf Clover 120 

From " Spiritathesis " I2 9 

G 

Garfield 122 

Go and Tell It to the Bees "7 

Guilty 141 



" PAGP. 

Hail to the Hero ! 4^ 

Her Letter 86 

Home Memories 18 

I 

In Meinoriam 65-178 

Insomnia 101 

K 

Knights of Pythias 107 

L 

L'Envoi ^4 

Lines 17 

Lines in a Portfolio '. ... 150 

Long Ago 209 

Lou's Christmas Gift 47 

Love Never Sleeps 207 

M 

Major Pauline Cushman 27 

Memorial Poem No. 1 185 

" 2 189 

" " 3 !94 

My Ambition 146 

My Dream of St. Valentine 155 

My Heart Would Have Me Love You 236 

N 

Not Alone with the Night 158 

Number Forty-four 22 

O 

Oh, Where are the Little Boys ? 80 

Open the Blind 83 

Our Baby 78 

Our Molly 15 

P 

Perdita 75 

Put off at Honolulu 10 



R PAGE 

Reception to Paul Vandervoort, Grand Commander. G. A. R. . 211 

Reply to a Letter Requiring Extra Postage 41 

S 

Saint Margaret 216 

Since Mother Died 9 2 

Sleep On 71 

Song of Victory 63 

Song Story for the Little Ones . ....... 160 

Spirit of Love J 3 

T 

Take Courage IQ S 

Terra Australis .... 56 

The Battle of Ships on Mobile Bay 167 

The Charge upon the Hill 204 

The Coming Man 49 

The " Little Matron's " Greeting 3° 

The Maniac's Last Hour 99 

The Old and the New . . . , 221 

The Tale of a Toad 43 

The World must have its Crucified 137 

Thorns Intertwine the Crown of Bay 17S 

To Arms ! 62 

To " Beeswax " 134 

To Winnebago Lake 231 

Two Sides 233 

V 

Violets 9 

W 

Wedding Anniversary 127 

Welcome to Grant . . . . . . . ' . . 114 

Where do the Sea-gulls Go ? . . is* 

Which do You Choose to Wear ? S9 

Wormwood iv+ 

Y 

Your Praise .... 79 



DRIFTWOOD. 



DRIFTWOOD. 



VIOLETS. 

( FOR KVANGI LINE. ) 

Through the long days of the chill wintry weather, 
( '<>yly their purple lips whisper and wait. 

Under their leaflets green, huddled together, 
Violets bloom, though the spring cometh late. 

Oul from the south-land with sun-lighted tresses, 
Cometh the trail of the fairy of spring ; 

( >ver their beds, With her love-warm caresses, 

Perfumes of violel rise i<> her wing. 
( »ui of the chill of the heart's bleak December, 

Like the bloom of the violet, lender and lair ; 

Though severed i>y oceans, love still will remember, 
And bless with devotion the friendship we .'hare. 
Nov. ■ :■ [894 



IO 



DRIFTWOOD. 



PUT OFF AT HONOLULU. 

I've heard it said in Frisco rings — 

It may be false (it may be true, though) — 

That king Claus Spreckles rules the sea. 
From Frisco down to Honolulu. 

That steamers of the " and ( ) " 

(Except one buy to Sydney through, tho") 

Will sell no tickets on their line 
To passengers for Honolulu. 

With "All aboard ! " and " All ashore ! " 
How shrilly then the whistle blew, too ; 

The Captain said we'd next sight land, 
And stop an hour at Honolulu. 

And so we sailed away, away ! 

In spite of all precautions due. though, 
And much against his will : 'twas said 

We'd land one soul at Honolulu. 



PUT OFF A T HONOLULU. 

For when the purser's round was made 

For tickets (how the Captain flew, though), 

For one no ticket had, nor cash, 
To pay as far as Honolulu. 

We thought the man was but a crank. 

Not so thought all the merry crew, though. 
" I'll put you off," the Captain said, 

" When we arrive at Honolulu." 

The fellow walked about the decks 

As bold as any Robin Crusoe, 
Nor seemed to break his heart at all 

At being left at Honolulu. 

They locked him up a while below ; 

Of course they fed the fellow, too, though ; 
'Twould hardly do to starve the man 

Before we came to Honolulu. 

And when we reached that tropic isle, 
We did as all good people do, do — 

We went ashore to do the town, 
And do the kine, at Honolulu. 



12 DRIFTWOOD. 

Then down the gang-plank sped the man, 
With "Thank ye, Captain, and adieu, too; 

I'll go ashore, of course. Ye see, 
I live right here at Honolulu." 

On board steamer Zealandia, of the " O and O," 
mid-ocean, June 23d, 1885. 



SPIRIT OF LOVE. 13 



SPIRIT OF LOVE. 

I woke, and, lo ! 
From the deep chambers of my soft repose, 

Silent and slow, 
Clothed in a mist of light, a vision rose. 

My steadfast eyes 
Gazed on its splendor with new-born delight ; 

As summer skies 
Bedew the rose, so drank my soul the light. 

Guest from the skies, 
What is thy mission with the human heart ? 

Sure Paradise 
Claims priceless boons, where thou dost take a part 

" Read on my brow 
The branded covenant. To all men, peace. 

Ever from now 
Let envy, jealousy, and all sin cease. 



14 DRIFTWOOD. 

"In charity 
Be to the souls of men as God to thee. 

Eternity 
Brings not a recompense more gratefully. 

" When erring powers 
Bind to the trembling flesh the piercing thorn, 

Like trampled flowers, 
Let sweeter incense on the air be borne. 

" Learn to forgive 
The wanton hand outstretched to grasp thy joys. 

This 'tis to live, 
Keep thyself free from all earth's gross alloys." 

Spirit of love, 
Speed swiftly on thy heaven-appointed way, 

Till bright above 
Beams the glad dawning of a better day. 

R. P. Journal, 1872. 



OUR MOLLIE. 15 



OUR MOLLIE. 

Large and dark as a gazelle's 
Arc her eyes, with witching spells, 
And her teeth are white as pearls, 
And of all the little girls 
That we know, 
Our Mollie is the sweetest ; 
That is so. 

Could you hear her silvery voice 
Trill the music of her choice, 
Could you see her dimpled smile 
Ripples o'er her lace beguile, 

You would know, 
Our Mollie is the sweetest ; 

That is so. 

Could you watch her busy hands, 
Working out their thousand plans, 



16 DRIFTWOOD. 

And her feet, whose restive spells 
Fall like water over shells, 

You would know, 
Our Mollie is the sweetest ; 

That is so. 

Could you kiss her rosy lips. 
Which no others can eclipse, 
You would know, with great or small, 
She's the darling of them all ; 

You would know, 
Our Mollie is the sweetest ; 

That is so. 

To Miss Mollie Kussner, 

Terre Haute, Indiana. 
Music by L. Kussnkr. 



LINES. 17 



LINES 

Written while waiting on some business in the office of U. S. Marshal 
Pool, and where were also Messrs. Lovett, Tear, and Worth. 

I'm many favors overdue, 

And grateful yet may prove it, 
They still may find that proverb true, 

Who trust the good and Lovett. 

May Mercy's Tear direct the rule 
Where modest Worth so still is, 

For oft above the placid Pool, 
Exhale the fairest lilies. 



18 DRIFTWOOD. 



HOME MEMORIES.* 

An exile, far from home and friends, 

I sought the busy street. 
To chase from memory's tearful page. 

Home recollections sweet. 
Along the crowded thoroughfare 

My idle footsteps strayed ; 
A band of strolling minstrels passed ; 

I listened as they played 



* Melbourne, Australia, 1SS5. 
Lonely and homesick, a stranger, I started out from my hotel, soon 
after arriving at Melbourne, for a walk, and in a few moments came 
upon a band of minstrels who were playing the familiar airs from the 
Bohemian Girl — favorite airs my daughter Evangeline used to sing so 
well while on the operatic stage. The music intensified my sadness, 
and returning to my room, the song suggested itself to me, and was at 
once written out. To convey the desired impression, the music which 
accompanies the respective words copied with each verse should lie 
played from the beginning of the verse, and the two lines written after 
each interlude should be softly sung and repeated if desired. — A. L. B. 



HOME MEMORIES. 19 

Those dear, familiar songs of home, 

The songs of other years, 
When her sweet voice in plaintive tones, 

The heart awoke to tears, 
With songs that voice no more will sing 

My sadness to dispel. 
This tender strain the harp-strings swept, 

And swept my heart as well : 

[Instrumental interlude.] 

(" I also dreamt, which pleased me most, 
That you loved me still the same.") 

And as the music rose and fell 

And softly died away, 
My heart went trembling back again ; 

Her soft white fingers play 
Upon my heart, as o'er the keys 

She played, to comfort me, 
The songs we loved in other lands, 

Beyond the tropic sea. 
And ere the last note died away 

In numbers soft and low, 



DRIFTWOOD. 

The vibrant chords another woke 

In tuneful overflow ; 
And down the strings the minstrel's hand 

Swept lightly o'er again, 
As softly woke the quivering chords 

In this pathetic strain : 

[Instrumental interlude.] 

("Of days that have as happy been, 
And you'll remember me.") 

And yet again that tuneful hand 

The chord's new echoes woke, 
Till overfull one slender thread, 

Of its own sadness broke ! 
And still above that severed cord 

The hand kept playing on. 
As o'er the heart's rent chords again 

Life's rivers overrun. 
And yet again the changeful lyre 

Kept on in numbers sweet, 
Till over-sad with memory's thoughts, 

I hurried down the street. 



HOME MEMORIES. 

While her sweet face led on before 

With songs she used to sing, 
Thus played the hand upon the harp 
Above the broken string : 

[Instrumental interlude.] 
(" But memory is the only friend 

That grief can call its own.") 



32 DRIFTWOOD. 



NUMBER FORTY-FOUR. 

The rain was dripping drearily from roof to muddy street, 
With muffled tread the sentry kept his lonely, solemn 

beat. 
It was midnight. In the hospital the lamps were burning 

low, 
And on the walls, fantastic, flung their shadows to and 

fro. 

And every ward was crowded, with its hundred men and 

more, 
For the winter's scourge had left them when the troops 

went on before ; 
When the fever and miasma, with their pestilential breath, 
Stalked beside lagoons and bayous in the cerements of 

death. 

And a painful sense of silence crept along the cheerless 

halls, 
Broken only by the echoes where delirium's specter calls, 



NUMBER FORTY-FOUR. 23 

The moaning, and the hollow cough, or prayers uncon- 
scious said, 

The footfall of the night-watch or the nurse's slippered 
tread. 

Sleep's gentle hand in fitful rest elixir's solace brought, 
And on the fevered lids of some, forgetfulness had 

wrought. 
And back in dreams the homesick boy through orchards 

seemed to roam, 
And muttered oft to phantom shapes endearing words of 

home. 

There was dearth of woman's tenderness and less of 

woman's tears, 
For women weep their tears at home, while men break 

hearts with wars, 
Save now and then in ministry, with home and friends 

forgot, 
Her loyalty the patriot gave beside the sufferer's cot. 

For weeks the wasting tooth of pain, relentlessly as fate, 
Had claimed the little drummer, from a loyal Northern 
state. 



_>4 DRIFTWOOD. 

The boys had named him "Baby, all the way from 

Illinov, " 
Butthe nurse, with woman's tactics, called him "some 
one's darling boy. " 

As his restless little ringers thinner grew from day to day, 
lie would tell her in his prattle of lus home so far away ; 
Of his pony, and his phaeton, oi his colt, his skates, and 

sled. 
"When the Surgeon gives me furlough, ['11 get well, 1 

know,'' he said. 

Then abrupt the story ended : " Lady, something in your 
eye, 

Tells me — yes, I know it — that you think I'm going to 
die." 

Then she made his pillow softer, stroked his little golden 

head. 
*' But our dear brave little soldier does not tear to die? 

she said. 

"Only — could 1 see my sister — mother -she isgone, you 

know, — 
And my father — and my brother, — maybe just before 1 go. 



NUMBER FORTY-FOUR. 25 

You will kiss me for my kin-folks — so the way I'm going 

now, 
Won't seem quite so strange and lonesome, — like there's 

sonic one near I know." 

Then he planned a distribution of his little wealth at 

home, 
And the trinkets in his knapsack, of a boy's well treasured 

sum. 
"Hardly know just where I'm going to — and if you 

wouldn't mind, 
And read a chapter in the Book, I would think it very 

kind." 

Then he drew his little Bible from beneath his pillow white, 
And she held his hands, and talked a while, then down 

the hour of night 
She led him with the prodigal whose wayward pilgrim feet, 
Repentant, in the Father's house found welcome and re- 
treat. 

When at last she closed the chapter, peace on his brow 
reposed. 

And to those eager eyes, afar, some glory seemed dis- 
closed. 



26 DRIFTWOOD. 

And o'er the trembling- purple lips she bent to catch the 

word — 
•• And I — go — to my — mother,"' was the whisper that she 

heard. 

Then she closed and kissed his eyelids, and a ring of 

golden hair 
From his boyish tresses severed, for a weeping sister's care. 
When morning thing the sunlight through the window, on 

the floor, 
Another cot was empty. It was number Forty-Four. 



MAJOR PAULINE CUSHMAN. 27 



MAJOR PAULINE CUSHMAN. 

I\ Memoriam. 

[Read by the author at the funeral.] 

Calm, peaceful at last, like the breast of the river, 

When torrent and tempest and tumult arc past, 
When the cataract's thunder is silent forever. 

When storm-spent and placid and quiet at last, 
When the rock-fretted rapids no longer arc sighted, 

Reposeful, it readies its furthermost shore. 
And the lamplights of evening in Starland arc lighted, 

And the travail and toil of the day arc no more, — 

She quietly sleeps, who was tossed on life's ocean, 

( )n whose wild waves of impulse her life-bark was borne 
O'er the red fields of carnage and cannons' commotion 

Through the winds of adversity shattered and torn, 
"With a patriot's lire on her soul's altar burning, 

And a loyal heart's love that her faults should atone, 
With a soul full of tenderness spent — unreturning — 

Neglected, forsaken, and dying alone. 



a 8 DRIFTWOOD. 

Oh, fling; not reproach at the last, when deaths finger 

And seal on her lips and her heart-throbs are set. 
On one who so loved with the children to linger. 

Whose innocent prattles she could not forget. 
Ah me ! it were better each comrade and woman 

Should ask of himself — were his own weakness known, 
He could say to his conscience: — " I am better than human, 

That he, being sinless, should cast the first stone"? 



O loyal heart, faithful heart, heroine, soldier : 
Breveted by Lincoln, by Garfield installed, 
With the comrades in arms who went shoulder to shoulder, 

Imprisoned and captive, but never appalled. 
For country and freedom, and the stars o( "Old Glory," 

Oh, let it drape over her. silent and dead. 
For what more befitting her life's hallowed story 

Than forever its folds should unfurl o'er her head. 



And we should regret, if regrets were availing. 

That we gave not the living these tributes of ours. 
And crowned her with laurels, whatever her failing. 

And strewed o'er her pathway hue's beautiful (lowers; 



MAJOR PAULINE cOsiIMAN. 29 

And perhaps — who shall say that her lingering spirit 

Speeds happier on in its star-fretted way 
That at last, and in death, we remembered her merit, 

And bless, as we honor, her record to-day ? 

Where softly she sleeps will the grave grasses quiver, 

When the west wind sweeps in from far over the sea ; 
In her dream she will float on that mystical river 

Where the palm trees of Aiden droop low o'er the lea, 
And her bark will cast anchor among the pale islands, 

And the hands of the angels are beckoning near, 
And the morning light dawns o'er the crest of the high- 
lands, 

And an escort in armor to meet her appear. 

And there on the banks of the river they cluster, 

At the call of the bugle they form into line, 
And a glorified army death only could muster, 

And a national memory only enshrine. 
She has gone ! and among them on history's pages, 

When ours are forgotten, our children will tell 
Of her deeds. And her name will live on through the ages. 

Pass on, O freed spirit, pass on, and farewell. 



30 DRIFTWOOD. 



THE "LITTLE MATRON'S " GREETING 

TO THE HOYS OF THE THIRTY-SECOND REGIMENT WISCONSIN 
VOLUNTEERS, IN REUNION AT (UPON, WIS., 
JUNE 27-29, 1893.* 

Please call my name out, comrade. What is it that you 
say ? 

I'm not upon the muster roll? that I'm not here to-day? 
Where have I been to since the war? Why, I've been 

'most everywhere. 
But I've always been with you, boys. — won't someone 

answer " here " ? 

You may have quite forgotten, boys, while journeying 

down the years. 
Full many a scene which in my heart some memory still 

reveres, 

*I was appointed Matron and Nurse of the 32c!. Wis. Vols. Inf. by 
Surgeon General Wolcott, of Milwaukee, and was with them in the field 

until overtaken by siekness, after a very severe campaign during a 
u ted epidemic. 



THE "LITTLE MATRON'S" GREETING. 31 

But I never shall forget you till my days on earth are 
reckoned, 

And I still would be at roll-call in the dear old Thirty- 
Second. 

1 was with you up at Oshkosh, when first you went on 
drill. 

And T nursed you in the barracks when you swallowed 
your first pill, 

And when below at Memphis, when with mud half over- 
do wed, 

You came in from the Pigeon roost, that execrable road. 

And 1 can well remember, without trying very hard, 
Mow we gathered in the sick ones at the Memphis Navy 

Yard : 
You were grimed and sick with fever, and so many were 

laid low, 
Who were fresh in manhood's vigor but a month or two 

ago. 

And my heart was sick with pity, tho' you always thought 

it light. 
And my tears were always coming, tho' I wept them out 

of sight, 



:: DRIFTWOOD. 

And 1 felt the pain that racked you as I bent above your 
cot, 

And I tried my best to cheer you, that the pain might be 
forgot. 

For I knew the homesick longing for the loved ones far 

away 
Was more wasting than the fever, and I tried to make 

you gay ; 
And I let you call me " mother," "sweetheart," anything 

you pleased, 
Till your sinking courage rallied and the homesick was 

appeased. 

But the hardest thing about it was, when everything was 

done, 
To see the flickering life go out of some dear mother's son, 
And they said it wasn't quite so hard to die with woman's 

care. 
And it gave them satisfaction to have me with them there. 

But you couldn't know the hunger that was in my heart 

the while, 
For altho' my heart was breaking, for your sakes I'd sing 

and smile. 



THE "LITTLE MATRON'S" 1 GREETING. $$ 

Did you know in Southern prisons that I had a soldier lad? 
And I missed my babies' kisses, and I couldn't help be sad. 

But I seemed to hear entreating from your mothers at 

their prayers, 
" Father, let some angel woman give my suffering boy 

her care ; " 
And so, boys, I stayed beside you and I did my level best, 
Tho' I never packed a knapsack — was a soldier with the 

rest. 

And I've often thought it singular that neither near or far 

Is a monument erected to the women of the war, 

Tho' the country needed women just as much as boys in 

blue, 
And I rather think they helped you bring "old glory" 

safely through. 

I don't count much on honors, tho,' that come when one 

is dea"d ; 
Better that consideration that will help you get ahead ; 
Aftermath suits some conditions when you've plenty and 

at ease, 
But the toiler in the treadmill can't waste time upon his 

knees. 



34 DRIFTWOOD. 

And my pulses throb with thinking of the half I couldn't 
tell, 

When we camped out there at Chelsea, you will all re- 
member well ; 

There was room enough and plenty, and the tents were 
new and neat, 

And the mess had pork and beans enough and baker's 
bread to eat. 

And the boys all looked so handsome on parade and all 

in line, 
And with only slight exceptions everything out there was 

fine, 
And the boys behaved so lovely (we had none but lovely 

men), 
That the guard-house held a captive, for a change, but 

now and then. 

And the boys policed the district, it was something nice 

to note, 
Tho' we entertained the stranger, — bovine, swine, and 

friendly goat, — 
Who when growing too familiar, without jury or defense, 
Went the way of such transgressors, filled our plates at 

their expense. 



THE " LITTLE MA TROWS " GREE TING. 35 

And the hospital extended till we took and cared for all, 
Tho' sometimes they numbered many who came up at 

surgeon's call ; 
And there's some who will remember every bed was clean 

and snug, 
And the drink was so refreshing from the Matron's "big 

brown jug." 

To the blessed Sanitary Uncle Sam owed many thanks 
For the thousands that recruited from the ever thinning 

ranks, 
For their glorious ministrations, freely given on every 

hand, 
Helped the boys preserve the Union and bring freedom to 

the land. 

How I foraged from a neighbor for the sick, you may 

have heard, 
And gobbled up his strawberries, and he couldn't say a 

word, 
With the picket-guard on duty ; and while we picked 

away 
We sang " 'way down in Dixie," and remarked we'd come 

to stay. 



36 DRIFTWOOD. 

And the contrabrands, how thick they were, Sam, Caro- 
line, and Kate, 
And Dave, Octave, and Charlie ; and the melancholy fate 
That befel our little Walker, who was everybody's pet, 
In his soldier clothes, by far too large ; I seem to see him 
yet. 

And I wonder if the chaplain will recall it, when I say 

I have not forgot the pudding that he made for his birth- 
day ; 

Tho' he watched and boiled and punched it from morn 
till afternoon 

It came out like soup with raisins, and we ate it with a 
spoon. 

I remember I was frightened once when ordered to report, 
In a peremptory manner, and the Colonel was the court ; 
And I wondered what delinquence, dereliction, or what 

not 
Caused my summons so abruptly as I hurried to the spot. 

Well ! the guard an escort waiting held so innocent a 
pair — 

They were women, and protested they had nothing any- 
where 



THE " LITTL E MA TR ON 'S " GREE TING. 3 7 

That was contraband, and plied me with persuasions that 

were bland, 
And to save the guard the trouble I just took them into 

hand. 

And they begged, caressed, entreated, that I wouldn't 

' ' make 'em strip, " 
But I knew my little business and I wouldn't let them 

slip ; 
So I took their big horse-pistols they were smuggling 

through the line, 
And every one was loaded, and they carried eight or nine. 

And when the summer ended and the frost was every- 
where 

We went to church in numbers, tho' scarce to say a prayer; 

Tho' the church of General Forrest for another use was 
meant, 

The sick men in the basement seemed in every way con- 
tent. 

And we served the Lord in earnest, at least I thought so 

then, 
By caring for the soldiers, who of slaves were making 

men ; 



38 DRIFTWOOD. 

And I slept up in the pulpit, where I really thought it 

worse 
To give sanction to a rebel than protect an army nurse. 

But I'dbetter not detain you, there's so many t.o be heard, 
But I thought I'd fly to pieces if I couldn't say a word ; 
Tho' it's sort of second-handed, and it seems a little hard, 
I will send my silent double, who will represent my card. 

Tho' I'm with you, boys, in spirit, ghosts like mine don't 

walk, they say, 
But I'd give ten years of penance to be with you all 

to-day, 
Just to see your dear old faces, just to catch your honest 

smiles, 
To be really there among you I would walk a hundred 

miles. 

So my corporate can't be with you — perhaps it's just as 

well, 
For what might happen otherwise, might not be best to tell ; 
Tho' I love the girls right royally, the girls you left 

behind, 
They might misconstrue the impulse, if not generously 

inclined. 



THE "LITTLE MATRON'S" GREETING. 39 

Yet I can't quite reconcile it you should meet without 
me there, 

And I've set my head to thinking how to take you un- 
aware ; 

I myself a'm no magician, if some magic could be found — 

Stay ! perhaps I might by proxy greet and hug you all 
around. 

And remember, when you see it, just the trifle that I send * 
Just to show the Thirty-Second has in me a loyal friend, 
That the hand that wrought the token would its ministry 

bestow 
Just as freely to a soldier as in war times long ago. 

And there's one thing pretty certain, when we're called 

in grand review, 
At that grand eternal muster, I shall not be far from you. 
If there's one among you, comrades, who is doubtful of 

his fate, 
I'll persuade the good Saint Peter just to pass him through 

the gate. 

* The trifle sent was a cream satin banner upon which I had painted 
in oil colors the " Little Matron's " portrait, full size. Our Chaplain is 
now the Right Rev. Bishop Samuel Fallows of the Diocese of Illinois. 



4 o PRIFTWOOD. 

True, 1 know you've hardly missed me, but 'twould 

gratify my mind 
If you'd give just one hurrah, boys, for the girl now left 

behind ; 
And I'd prize the silken token as a keepsake, just to say, 
"See, my boys did not forget me — here's the badge they 

wore to-day. " 

And if any of you, comrades, should be drifted out my 
way, 

I'll suggest you'd better call a halt, and pass the time of 
day ; 

1 am loth to leave you, comrades, and my heart is break- 
ing quite ; 

I'll be with you next reunion ; heaven bless you all — 
good-night. 

Your " Little Matron," in loyal affection, 

Addif, L. Ballou. 

San Francisco, Cm [FORNIA. 



REPL Y'10 A LETTER REQUIRING EXTRA POSTAGE. 41 



REPLY TO A LETTER REQUIRING EXTRA POSTAGE, 

FROM A PUNNING CORKKSHONDENT. 

At taking' hints 

You make no stints, 
Nor prove to compact fickle ; 

Which, willing- done, 

With spicy pun, 
Deserves the extra nickel. * 

Professor Peet, 

I'm yours to treat, 
But make me this confession : 

A kindly lick 

Of fate might stick 
You fast to your profession. 

* Five cents postage at that time. 



42 DRIFTWOOD. 

I send you cheer, 
And change for beer, 
Much pleasure be afforded 
Forgive, forget, 
Tli at dreadful threat ; 
Return and be rewarded. 



THE TAIS OF A TOAD. 43 



THE TAJE OF A TOAD. 

AN IMPROMPTU. 

I have an old aunt from the city, 
She's a sort of a genius and crank ; 

She tries to be funny and witty, 

But her jokes seem to me rather rank. 

My aunt had a pet that she tended, 
She tethered him out by a string. 

I hope she will not be offended, 
But I thought it a horrible thing. 

My aunt gave him flies for his diet 

When her day's work of painting was done, 

But the flies feed on him, and he's quiet, 
And his toes are turned up to the sun. 



44 DRIFTWOOD. 

And that is the end of my story, 

For his bones bleach out there in the road. 
It's no fable, like "Old Mother Morcy," 

Hut my aunt and her little horned toad. 

For Ethel, by the said aunt. 
Redlands, Cal , 
June, 1 89 1. 



HAIL TO THE HERO. 45 



HAIL TO THE HERO ! * 

All hail to the hero whose coming we wait, 

When the ship shall sail in from the turbulent sea ; 

When harbor-locked safe by our own Golden Gate, 
Oh, warm be our welcome in honor of thee ! 

In all the far lands through these pilgrimage years, 
All nations have gloried to honor their guest ; 

But hearts never leaped with such pride and glad tears, 
Nor hands with such welcome his never have pressed. 

For our hero is ours, and we cannot forget 
The arm that was strongest on perilous field, 

When the sky of our nation with crimson was set, 
And carnage and death left their stain on our shield. 

Then ring out such welcome, with cannon and bell, 

As never a hero returning has known ; 
And spangle the air with the breeze-lifting swell 

Of the flag he defended, for his land and our own. 

* Arrival of Grant at San Francisco, Sept. 15, 1879. 



45 DRIFTWOOD. 

Then welcome, thrice welcome ! our veteran chief. 

We are all of US loyal in welcome to thee — 
To the soldier whose sword brought the bondmen relief. 

Our ruler, when peace spread her wing o'er the tree. 

Then thunder, ye guns, and ring- loudly, each bell, 

And, music, give voice o'er the restless sea foam. 
And stars shimmer down from your banners and tell 
How proudly we welcome our conqueror home. 



LOU'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 47 



LOU'S CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

Twas the night before Christmas, 

And poor little Lou, 
For the want of a stocking 

Hung up her old shoe ; 
It was worn out and ragged, 

It was rusty and old, 
It let out the pink toes, 

And it let in the cold. 

" I'll just play I am sleeping," 

The little one said, 
"And when Santa Claus comes 

And looks into my bed, 
And don't see me stir, 

He'll fill up my shoe 
With all the nice things 

For my mamma and Lou." 



48 DRIFTWOOD. 

" Merry Christmas to mamma ! 

As jumping- from bed 
To the shoe by the chimney, 

The little one sped. 
" Oh, Santa ! what made you ? 

Just see what he's done ! 
He's filled up my shoe 

Full of snow, just for fun. 

" I think he was naughty, 

A little bit too, 
For, mamma, he didn't 

Leave nothing for you. 
But never mind, mamma ! 

I'll kiss you — don't cry ! 
'Spect he couldn't bring 

What my ma couldn't buy.' 

New Orleans, La., 1872. 



THE COMING MAN. 



49 



THE COMING MAN. 

A REPLY TO "SANS SOUCI. " 

"Sans Souci," pray, what did you mean, 

When you laid out that terrible plan 
Of the "witching, bewitchingly sweet," 

And the traps that they set for their man ? 
Your " girl of the period," mister, 

The one that's best fitted your mood, 
Would take her own chances at wooing, 

She never would wait to be wooed. 

That the world needs be " reformed " 

And governed by "better rules," 
Is a truth that may well be applied, 

Since its rulers are knaves or fools. 
Conventions and Congresses now 

Are scarce but a babel of noise 
And squabbles and party strife, 

Led on by the tipsy b'hoys. 



50 DRIFTWOOD. 

Don't wonder they "dream of place 

And power," and " a better morn," 
And as to the fireside virtues, 

Well, to-day there is little to scorn. 
And as for the noisy forum. 

They've not very far to rush, 
And your grapevine's purple lustre, 

Is naught but a nightshade bush. 

If our women were all Cornelias, 

And the men of the period wed. 
Their children would be but monkeys, 

If they " aped " from the parent head. 
Our old-fashioned men, oh, where are they? 

They are gone with the woodbine, to grass, 
And the men of to-day haven't mettle 

Enough for a compound of brass. 

Lucretias to-day are the women 

Who to keep up appearance, you know. 

Must dress, paint, and flirt to be charming; 
Not a sensible thing should they know. 

The one who should dare to know other 



THE COMING MAN ei 

Than what you might teach to a goose, 
Is a creature of Amazon habits, 

And a target for small men's abuse. 

I'll tell you, "Sans Souci," what I think, 

These men have quite envious grown, 
That a woman should be independent, 

Since this world has so long been their own. 
The coin she so merrily "jingles," 

Her rights by the earning have gained, 
She's not forced to wed for a keeping 

Or honors she never attained. 

Alas for these wronged little creatures, 

These poor little masculine elves, 
They measure the "strong-minded women " 

By what is left out of themselves. 
It is just as well that he comes not, 

This "coming man," 'tis no use, 
Since hearts may be won by love only, 

And not by the croak of a goose. 

Louisville, Ky., 1871. 



5 2 



DRIFTWOOD. 



DEAD IN HIS BED. 

Only a man dead in his bed ; that is all. 
Stark, stiff, and rigid, white face to the wall. 

Came out of yesterday, somewhere, to here. 
Well, no ; don't think he'd friends anywheres near. 

Wanted employment, that's what he said ; 
No work to give him, — next thing- he's dead. 

What did he die of, sir ? Can any one tell ? 

A tit did they think it was ? Last night he was well. 

Heart disease? Maybe. What was his name? 
Don't know ; didn't register, sir, when he came. 

Laud'num, they said it was, there on the stand. 
Xo, stranger ; don't reckon he held a fair hand. 

Suicide? Yes, that's what the Coroner said ; 
Scooped out was what put the thing in his head. 



DEAD IN II IS BED. 53 

Money? Guess not, sir. Why, he hadn't enough 
To pay for this hole in the sod, of the stuff. 

Friends, did you ask? Oh, yes ! sometime or other; 
Reckon, of course, the boy once had a mother. 

Rather rough on him, pard ; but vvhere's it to end, 
When you're panned out of cash, and can't count on a 

friend ? 

Down to the calaboose — that's where they took him ; 
Good enough place when a man's money's forsook him. 

Fun'ral ? Just you see that express at the corners ! 
County don't pay for no hearse, nor no mourners. 

Well, stranger, you've got me! Can pray, if you will; 
Rather late in the day, when a man's dead and still. 

Strikes me it don't count, to this, under my spade ; 
And as for the rest of him — stranger, that's played. 

No offence, sir ; beg pardon. But strikes me as fair, 
And a pretty sure wuy to get answer to prayer. 

Better give a poor devil a lift while he's here, 
Than wait till he's passed in his checks over there. 
Oregon Statesman, Salem, Oct. 1, 1874. 



54 



DRJFTWQOD. 



L'ENVOL 

Down Memory's shadowy aisle to-night 

There sweeps the train oi bygone years : 
As stars with shimmering train of light, 
An army o( the heaven appears : 
While night dews shed their crystal tears. 
Each orient space 
Some long-loved face 
Un vails to bless my lingering sight. 

Down by each time-familiar lane 

My mother walks, as in those days 
When we were boys. Ah ! would again 
Our eyes could meet her temh-r ga e 
As they looked then their love and praise. 
The soft caress, 
1 ler finger's press, 
Was solaee for all grief or pain. 

Down where the silenee is so deep — 

My thoughts give echo ore 1 speak — 



V EN VOL 

They laid you when you fell asleep, 
With death's pale lilies on your cheek. 
You, best beloved, who were so meek, 
So placid seemed, 
As if you dreamed 
Of secrets that the angels keep. 

Down from your now abiding-place 

Is there no passageway to ours? 
No window, where your sainted face- 
May look from out your spirit's bowers, 
To cheer us on life's lonely hours ? 
Is there no word 
That may be heard, 
Peace-giving in its thrilling powers ? 

Down Time's tempestuous coast at last, 
When life's frail tent for me is furled, 
When night my day shall overcast, 

When wrecked and out of being hurled, 
Will your sweet eyes, by love impearled, 
In welcome wait 
At Aiden's gate, 
And find me room in your blest world ? 
Evening Post, San Francisco, 1877. 



55 



56 DRIFTWOOD. 



TERRA AUSTRALI& 

(CENTENNl VI CANTATA.) 

Hail ! hail ! and welcome, all ye lands. 

Far reaching over many seas ' 
Hail ! fleet-winged ships from every strand, 

That trail your pennons on the breeze ! 
Bring hither from your fruits of toil. 

Your choicest industries and arts, 
Invoke the genius oi your skill, 

Bring bounteous from your treasure marts. 

Chorus. 

11 mi ' hail ! and welcome from every fair land, 
From oast ami from west, to our land of the free, 

We give you the clasp of fraternity's hand ; 
\ nations are one in the world's jubilee. 

Your world is mighty, the sea is wide. 
The prophet lime (ov you has wrought 



TERRA ACSTRALIS. 57 

Empires strong;, for hearts of pride. 

Wise in the lore by sages taught. 
From breast of the old the new world springs. 

Flushed is her heart with veins of gold. 
Forging; metals, and toiler sings. 

We shall be great ere we are old. 

Backward only a hundred years, 

Silently under the southern cross, 
Waste was our land as futile tears, 

And gold was idle, and time was loss. 
Speeds now the engine's polished steel, 

Where but the trail the savage pressed ; 
And ships come in, with sail and wheel : 

Lightning- and steam keep pace abreast. 

Cities arise, mankind to bless. 

Over the waste of the years now gone ; 
And church, and school, and printing-press 

Herald the light of a better dawn. 
The children's hearts are light with song-. 

And peaee and plenty and joy abound. 
The sinews that gird the stale are strong. 

And toil is monarch the new world round. 



c,3 DA'/f-TllOO/\ 

Our herded hills and vales combine, 

And gardens honied sweet with bees, 
And vintages o'etrun with wine, 

And golden sands between our seas, 
To give you welcome, far and wide 

Welcome ! Excelsior, Gloria ! 
l«e honored still with gracious pride, 

Country and queen, Victoria. 

Chorus. 
Melbourne, Victoria, 1889, 



WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE TO WEAK ? 59 



WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE TO WEAR? 

Which do you choose to wear, dear girl, 
The rose or the laurel ? For both are fair. 

The rose is for love, the laurel fame ; 

Whichever shall crown your shining hair? 

Which shall the soul of your young life claim ? 
Which do you choose to wear, dear girl ? 

Which do you choose to wear, dear girl ? 

Sweet with the breath of love is the rose ; 
Under the rose is hid the thorn ; 

Queen of the hedge it lowly grows : 
( )n the glacial heights is the laurel born. 

Which do you choose to wear, dear girl ? 

Warm is the breath of the rose, dear girl ; 

Thorny the stem on which it grows. 
Daisies above her grave may bloom, 

Over the laurel the cold wind blows, 
Marble the walls of her final tomb. 

Which do you choose to wear, dear girl ? 



Co DRIFTWOOD. 

Wear as you choose to wear, dear girl ; 

May they both entwine for you alway, 
Laurel and rose, for love and lame ; 

Above your brows the evergreen bay, 
And love be your heart's sweet oriflamme, 

Is the prayer of my heart for you. dear girl. 

To Miss i ena Roucicault, daughter of Dion Boucicault. 
Steamer Zealandia, mid-ocean. June 21, [SS5. 



ACROSTIC ON A BLOTTER. 61 



ACROSTIC ON A BLOTTER. 

CHRISTMAS. 

Says I to myself, 'Tis the last of the year, 

And I wish you much joy of the past. 
Merry Christmas be with you and all its good cheer 

(Thank goodness it's with us at last). 

Have a care for the new year, invoke the good saints 

Our fortunes and joys to increase. 
Right the wrongs of the millions, unfetter restraints 

So let us have plenty and peace. 

(On Cover.) 

As snow-flakes cover what autumn sears, 
So I blot out the inky tears. 






TO ARMS • 



Oh ! s.ul were the tidings that reached us to-day 

['Inch flag .it us masthead was fluttering gaj . 

But hearts hushed their beatings, and cheeks paler greWj 

\s the terrible story from lip to lip flew : 

■• Colonel Ellsworth is fallen, the pride of the braves. 

The gallant young chief of the bold ' Fire Zouaves'.* 1 

A shadow of gloom o'er the busy town passed. 

And the star-begemmed tricolors trailed at half-mast 
the nation will mourn that her hero should die 
lb a murderous hand, when no battle was nigh, 
As fell Colonel Ellsworth, the pride of the braves, 
The gallant young chief of the bold " Fire Zouaves.* 1 

11 is blood calls for vengeance, and thousands to-day 

\ re waiting the summons in battle array, 

l\> strike For his downfall with vigorous hand, 

And the flag that waxes o\ er Our jdorious land. 

To avenge Colonel Ellsworth, the pride of the braves, 
The gallant young chief of the bold "F ves 

Men wi \. w is., m.i\ 15, tS6i. 



SOAFG 01- \ ICTOKY. 63 



8QN<G QF VICTORY. 

We've touched Lin- apex oftwar hopes! 

No longer woman pleading kneels, 
To ask her heaven-appointed rights 

Of man, in tearful scorned appeals, 
For backward now those doors have swum 

That never opened but to men. 
Her voice, once heard in Congress halls, 

Shall wake its corridors again. 

Be patient, <> ye pauper poor, 

And weary workmen at your desk. 
Ye cringing menials in the dust, 

Your wrongs are soon to be redressed. 
Ye servers on time-honored powers, 

A nobler power shall sway than kings; 
No longer man shall despot rule, 

When woman's standard upward fling 



N D/iJi WOOD, 

Wait, gloriously, ye crucified 

< >f womankind, for come it must. 
The day when you no more shall be 

\ \ >'!nn to man's selfish lust. 

I |>. then ! to action, women, men, 
Nor longer wait in sluggish fear, 

The righl by vigilance shall win, 
\iul crowns of equal justice bear. 

w \ suing ion, I >. (.., during the Woman's Suffrage campaign, Jan., 1S7: 



JN MEM OR I AM. 65 



IN MEMORIAM. 

(memorial DAY, SEVEN PINKS circle, 

LADIES OF THE <;. A. R.) 

(An Impromptu.) 

Oh 1 my sisters, while memory lingers 

With the heroes who honored the blue, 
While twining with tenderesi fingers, 

The blooms o'er their graves to bestrew, 
In the web of their love wreathing beauty, 

Inwrought for the deeds of the brave, 
Who followed the stern call of duty, 

And sleep in a patriot's grave. 

Forget not the tireless devotion, 

Of mother and sister and wife, 
Whose love through the deadly commotion, 

Sustained those arrayed in the strife. 



66 DRIFTWOOD. 

Their names are unwritten in story, 

The battles they fought are unsung, 
No history heralds their glory, 

No wreath on their monument's hung. 

Their hearts were a-hungered with waiting 

The scourge of the war to pass by ; 
With vigils that knew no abating, 

And a faith that was royal and high, 
With tears, while their babes closer pressing, 

They bade them go honor the shield, 
Till the wrongs of the nation redressing, 

With victory covered the field. 

With a love that was all unrepining, 

And a loyalty true as the stars, 
To the despot of fate all resigning, 

Bereft by the saddest of wars ; 
And the ruin and storms and confusion, 

The whirlwind of terrible shocks, 
Have crimsoned life's peaceful illusion, 

And silvered the sheen of their locks. 



IN MEMORIAM. 67 

And those who lie silently sleeping, 

Those sisters beloved of ours, 
In faith to their loyalty keeping, 

We'll garland with memory's flowers. 
And out from the heart of their petals, 

Shall gleam the white star of our love, 
As the crucible holding the metals 

Reflects the pale light from above. 
San Francisco, May 23, 1892. 



68 DRIFTWOOD. 



DADA'S MAN. 

(grandbaby's prattle. ) 

No ! grandma, I don't fink I can 
Be your boy, 'cause I's a man, 
My ma says, an' guess she knows ; 
Next year goin' to wear man's clo'es. 

I works hard mos' every day, 
Nen sometimes I has to play. 
Sister ain't so big, like Roy ; 
Guess she wish she be a boy. 

No ! I ain't not 'fraid a bit ; 
Des hoi's on an' rides old Kit, 
Right up steep to dada's mine, 
'Way up by the sugar-pine. 

Mussent touch the poison-noak, 
'Skeeters they don't like the smoke ; 
Lizard crawls up by eh trough, 
Hit 'em, nen his tail drop off. 



D ADA'S MAN. 69 

I puts ore-clirt in eh dump, 
Rolls it down to hear it bump. 
'Raster grinds it awful slow, 
Nen I makes more water go. 

I goes fru eh garden gate, 
'Cos I has to irrigate ; 
Picks up acorns for eh pigs, 
An' pine nuts ; but /eats eh figs. 

Yeller jackets sting me so 
I fall down. Nen my ma fro 
Water on me quick's she can, 
'N I swell up mos' big's a man. 

Mooley cow went to eh shop, 
'Cos I couldn't make her stop. 
Bonnie, he des bark en run. 
Oh ! we des had lots of fun. 

Dada hold me pretty tight, 
En we ride en ride all night 
In eh steam-car to see you. 
Street cars they des awful too. 



7° 



DRIFTWOOD. 

Mamma says must hug you so, 
'Cos she says she couldn't go. 
'Course Roy '11 love you much's he can, 
But he must he dada's man. 

Xmas, 1891. 



SLEEP ON. 



7* 



SLEEP ON. 

Sleep on, dear promise of Love's dream, 
I would not wake thy dreamless sleep ; 

Thy deathless spirit journeyed on, 
And I, alone, must wait and weep. 
Sleep on, sleep on ! 

Sleep on, sweet angel of my life, 
No mortal cares disturb thy rest; 

it's gentle zephyrs stir among 
The daisies growing o'er thy breast 
Sleep on, sleep on ! 

Sleep on, in silent slumber sleep ; 

I listen, but your voice is still, 
And yet I hear love's vocal sound 

In silence, when I listen well. 
Sleep on, sleep on ! 



72 DRIFTWOOD. 

Sleep on, I would not bid thee wake 

To fill the weak cup of my life. 
You were my all ; and art thou less 
My angel now, that wert my wife? 
Sleep on, sleep on ! 

Sleep on ; as pales the morning- star, 
So passed away thy life and breath, 

To light my night in life's decline. 

Death is not sleep ; yours is not death. 
Sleep on, sleep on ! 



AUTOGRAPH LINES. 



73 



AUTOGRAPH LINES. 

(J. E. C.) 

What shall I ask, to your life a boon ? 
Not that it be like an endless June ; 
Though of the rose 'tis the natal morn, 
Still nurtured beneath is the hidden thorn. 

Violets grow from the quickened earth , 
Meek, like forgiveness and modest worth ; 
And these are May's, but an April's tears 
Have sent her the floral crown she wears. 

September is freighted with golden grain ; 
Her sunlight and even her harvest rain 
Ripen the germs of the buds of spring, 
And a halo of use over beauty fling. 

Thus may your life like the autumn be, 
From blasts of winter and storms quite free, 
But enough of sunshine, enough of tears, 
To span with the rainbow your arch of years. 

Chagrin Falls, Ohio, Dec, 1866. 



74 



DKJJ-1WVV1). 



A MI Ol> IKK I DO! 

Darlingi ! each <lay with its resplendent winy;, 
Infolds you closer to my yearning breast, 

As tender pinions o'er the loved one cling, 
To clasp the new fledged birdling to its nest. 

When you are m-ar me, does the great black swell, 
That wrecked the past, its raging tumult cease? 
Some tranquil whisper tells me all is well, 
\nd Hoods my soul in an impassioned peace. 

So long my heart had starved, and loved in vain, 
1 could not see the Sunlight, for my tears ; 

To trust and love you, I forget my pain, 

And kiss your hands above the broken years. 

Too much I trust the honor of your thought, 

To let my lips betray my heart's whole quest ; 

For, if you love me, or you love me not, 

Yours will divine, and give to mine the test. 
Mi \,\u,\ km , Victoria, < >> t., 1885. 



PERDITA. 75 



PERDITA. 

One night, a hurrying- angel, filled with pity, 
Heard a low infant's wail within the city ; 
She paused, her warm heart in her bosom throbbing; 
Beside a door-stone knelt a mother, sobbing. 

"Oh, pitying angel ! let me for my sin so sorrow. 
1 [ence from my breast, my babe, — if but to-morrow 
Shall love and shelter her! — while, loveless and alone, 
.My broken heart can for such sin atone." 

The angel stooped and, filled with pity, kissed her. 
"Go, sin no more, — though frail, thou art my sister." 
The door swung inward, and far streamed the light ; 
The babe with other angels nestled safe that night. 
TERRE Haiti., Indiana, Oct., 1889. 



76 DRIFTWOOD. 



BE RECONCILED. 

(A RESPONSE TO RICHARD REALF, POET AND fOURNALIST.) 

May the wing of the pea< e ange] hover. 
Thy tempest-tossed bosom above, 

For why should the breath of the lover, 
Sigh hoi < i'er the altar of love ? 

'Twere better its /Etna to smother, 

E'er reaching the noon of its height, 
Than gulf the wrecked life of another, 

Tn the furious sea of its blight. 

For love is not love, if unmated ; 

It survives but in oneness alone ; 
Ami to death must that bosom be fated, 
That is always bereft of its own. 
s.\n Francisco, July 3, [878. 



A FRAGMENT. 



77 



A FRAGMENT. 

I do not mind that the good-night words 

With lingering fondness were once unspoken, 
That the tender touch of a good-night kiss 

Gave not to my lips the accustomed token. 

I do not mind all the weary hours, 

Which the lonely vigils deprived of sleeping, 
Though a throbbing head and a beating 1.' 

The sentinel watch to the night are keeping, 

I only grieve that a heart so loved 

Should prize so lightly love's priceless trea 

As to spill the wine with a careless hand, 

And break with its crystal measure. 

Portland, Oregon, November, 1878. 
The City Argus, San V'ranci .to, CaL 



7 8 DRIFTWOOD. 



OUR BABY. 

( To music by Felix Schelling, Philadelphia, Pa.) 

Beautiful humming-bird, sipping the flowers. 

Robbing their cups of their delicate sweets ; 

Dear little golden-haired birdling of ours, 

Pattering soft with her little bare feet 

Dear little mocking-bird, all the long day 

Saying the baby words scarce understood, 

Catching the flecks of the sunlight at play — 

Ah ! she would catch the great sun if she could. 

Cuddles her tired head cosy for sleep, 

Watching the moon and the stars in the sky ; 
Softly the dimpled arms round my neck creep, 

Lisping to "mamma" her " lullaby-by. " 

Sleep, little innocent, little " Bo-peep ! " 

Come never over her shadow, but sheen ; 

Angels protect her, awake or asleep, 

Golden-haired slumberer, Evangeline. 



YOUR PRAISE. 



79 



YOUR PRAISE. 

That night when the crowd applauded much, 

When the house was filled and I did my best, 
I eagerly watched if I could but touch 

Your heart in response with all the rest ; 
You paid me the homage of your praise, 

In a reverent touch to my lifted brow, 
Your proud eyes lent their approving rays. 

But you said me good-night with a formal bow. 

Last night when the crowd was far the less, 

And a wearisome pain convulsed my frame, 
Though never a one could my agony guess, 

Your eye flung o'er me its tender flame. 
Because I faltered, you praised the more ; 

Like a child you drew me to your waim breast, 
As you never had held me there before, 

And your good-night kiss to my lips you pressed. 

August, 1878. 



8o VRJFTWOOD. 



OH, WHERE ARE THE LITTLE BOYS? 

The house is so empty, so lonely and still ; 

The embers are fitfully dying ; 
The wintry tears fall on my window-sill, 
And my heart keeps sobbing and sighing 
For the little boys that were lent to me, 
In the long ago, by the inland sea, 
Where birds, and blossoms, and winds were free. 

For back again were my little boys 

Last night, in reality seeming ; 
And all the old pride and motherly joys 
Were mine through the bliss of dreaming 
Of the little boys with their bare brown feet, 
With their milk-white teeth and breaths more sweet 
Than the clover blooms where the honey-bees meet. 



OH, WHERE ARE THE LITTLE BOYS'/ 8l 

Two tangled webs of the softest brown, 

Like bronze into amber molten ; 
And one with ringlets of flaxen down, 
Reflecting the sunlight golden. 

And sweeter than song of any bird 
That ever the woodland echoes stirred, 
Was the music of even their slightest word. 

One slipped life's sandals whose baby song 

First lisped in the voice of an angel ; 
Since my arms enclasped him it seems so long, 
Twin-born and my life's evangel. 
No shadow of earth his purity mars, 
Who waits by the gate whose golden bars 
Exceed the limit of countless stars. 

What would I give if their broken toys 

Were about me, all order defying, 
And the silken heads of my little boys 
Were asleep on their pillows lying ? 

For the perfumed kiss of their baby lips ? 

My breast so yearns for their finger-tips 

To fling o'er life's shadows love's sweet eclipse. 



DRIFTWOOD, 

They tire .ill far away, my boys thai are men ; 

None ever were nobler or better ; 
They bless me through each happy stroke of the pen, 
Through each "dear little mother's" letter. 
Why should l grieve it .1 fairer face, 
With its youthful glow and .1 sweeter grace, 
in the heart of my boj s holds dearer place f 



Perhaps my boys will come back again, 

Ami my heart be .it rest from its roaming, 
When the little boys of my boys thai are men, 
Shall be stars to my day in Ks gloaming. 
For who knows hut ere my heart grows cold, 
As my head grows silvered above the gold, 
/"<•.•■ baby boys shall my anus enfold ? 

S w Ik \\. tS< 0, < \i ., April, t8 '■> 



OPEN THE BLIND. 



*3 



OPEN THE BLIND. 

SERENADE. 

The moonbeams lie white on the rose-bush and lawn, 
The night is fast passing, it soon will be dawn. 
Oh ! wake from your pillow, bid slumber be gone, 
Throw open your easement, O beautiful maid ' 
The sky's bending o'er you, while stars, gleaming bright, 
Like eyes of the angels that watch you by night, 
Are calling you, love ; and the moon's silver light 
A shimmering glance on your window has laid. 

Open the blind, love, open the blind ; 

Open the blind, love ; tender and kind 

Blows the soft breath of the summer-warm wind ; 

Star eyes are watching, love, open the blind. 

Oh, lady, awake ! do the stars vainly wait? 
The moon will not tarry, she answers 'tis late ; 
And long lias the night-birdling crooned to his mate; 
The river is kissing the lips of its shore, 



DRIFTWOOD. 

Imploring, in ripples thai sparkle and dance, 
My star-eyed to Ring them her rivaling glance. 
Then, lady, awake ! let thy presence enhance 
The beauty of earth, and the heaven bending o'er, 

Open the blind, love, open the blind ; 

Open the blind, love; tender and kind 

Blows the soft breath of the summer-warm wind; 

star eyes are watching, love, open the Mind. 

Then open your window, for tender and true, 
v the heart of the rose that is kissed by the dew, 
The heart that is calling is beating for yon, 

1 cajling you, love, to awake from your sleep. 
\s pure is her heart .is the snow on the breast 
Of the snowiest mount, on the loftiest crest. 
in sleep or awake may she ever be blest. 
Thy vigils above her, oh ' peace, angels, keep I 

I )pen the blind, love, open the blind ; 

Open the blind, love ; tender and kind 

Blows the soft breath of the summer-warm wind; 

Star eyes are watching, love, open the blind. 

Porti \ni«. Oregon, August, i8; 8. 



AUTOGRAPH LINES. 85 



AUTOGRAPH LINES. 

(album, MISS grace e . ) 

As happy as your dreaming, 
As fair as summer seeming, 
With blessed joy be teeming, 

The future of your years. 
And when your heart is mated, 
May love be ne'er abated, 
To joy, your wifehood fated, 

And know no vale of tears. 



Turlock, California, Dec. 1884. 



&6 DRIFTWOOD. 



HER LETTER. 

My Darling : 
Three days have lifted their glory above you. 
Since I answered you, Yes, dear heart, 1 love you. 

Three days, and they should have been weeks instead, 
By the busy thoughts that have throbbed in this head. 

Three crooked days, with their worse and better, 
And "I love you " can only be spoken by letter. 

And pray, dear, what must you think of the sphinx 
Who sketches her cupids with pen-points and inks? 

For, darling, " I love you " falls short of its bliss, 
When letter seals steal the sweet seal of a kiss. 

And, sweetheart, "I love you*' is sweetest when told 
By every sweet art which love's secrets untold. 

Then how can I lift to your lips love's full bowl, 
And in word crystals flash the full light of the soul ? 



HE A' LETTER. 87 

And, darling, what if I love you as deep 

As the limitless depths where the thunders sleep ? 

If my heart like the steel in its sheath were as set, 
And you were the gem-studded hilt's silver fret ? 

What if you were the sunlight's meridian glow, 
That could melt into rivers my life's ice and snow ? 

What then ? If the child were so loyally true, 
Would a constant " I love you " be echoed by you? 

And true as the stars that watch nightly above her, 
Would you be to such love an unfaltering lover ? 

Would you open your bosom the doveling to nest, 
And say to the weary heart, Come here and rest ? 

Would you sometime grow weary of too much caressing, 
And prize not the love that lives only in blessing? 

Would you not, as a dreamer who shakes off his dreams, 
Fling her from your life with day's ruddier gleams ? 

Oh I tell me, I'm eagerly waiting to know, 

How you'll shelter my birdling with pinions of snow. 



88 DRIFTWOOD. 

Impatient to break this bewildering spell, — 

If you love me, my darling, write quickly and tclL 

For darling, I love you, I love you — what then ? 
May angels protect you ; God bless you ; amen ! 

Sacramento, Cal., May, 1874. 



COLUMBIA. 89 



COLUMBIA. 

Loveliest stream among the rivers, 

In the northland's lakelets born, 
Where the glacial mountain shivers 

Through the wintry summer morn ; 
Where no foot of man or maiden 

Other than the duskier-hued, 
Treads the wilderness, o'erladen 

With its wildest beast or brood. 

Hurrying on, nor ever staying — 

Why so swiftly through thy Dalles? 
Coyly, with the shadows playing, 

Madly, where the cascade falls; 
Placid now, but yonder flirting 

With the sunset, crimson-dipped, 
Where the hills the west is skirting, 

Passion-hued in blushes tipped. 



90 DRIFTWOOD. 

Through the rocky canons falling-, 

Shimmering, laughing, to the sea, 
To the stars coquetting, calling 

" Fling your mantle over me ; " 
To the snow mount, " Do you miss me 

From your summer melting height ? " 
To the moon, " Oh, come ami kiss me, 

Sparkle on my breast to-night." 



On forever, wondrous river, 

Will you never pause nor rest ? 
Will you cease from hurrying, never, 

Till upon the ocean's breast? 
Vainly strive the shores to hold you, 

Stay, O river, you are lost 
Once the Ocean's arms enfold you, 

Where the tides are tempest-tossed. 

But her sandal ribbons tinkle 
Into loops and girdling sheen, 

Broadening in her skirts to twinkle 
On the fir's reflected green. 



COLUMBIA. 

" Let me go to meet my lover, 
Golden treasures wreathe my way," 

Thus she sings, while sails above her 
Bear her golden sweets away. 

And the passion-spuming' ocean, 

With his lips all foaming white, 
Rushes to her with commotion, 

"You shall be my bride to-night," 
Kneels upon the shore to lave her, 

Frantic leaps the stranding bar. 
" She is mine, no power can save her ! 

Shrieks o'er sail and plunging spar. 

The Dalles, Sept. 4, 1878. 



9 1 



9 2 DRJi-rWOOD. 



SINCE MOTHER DIED. 

Oh, memories sweet of my childhood's home, 
Swiftly ye glide o'er the waves of time ; 
Again I sit with the loved ones there, 
And mother is still in the dear old chair ; 
Yet sad is the music of memory's chime 
Since mother died. 
Oh, mother ! 



My father loved in those golden days 
To lift the wee ones upon his knee ; 

But his smile went out. leaving lines of care ; 
The silvery threads have crept into his hair. 
Oh, bitterly sad is that home to me 
Since mother died. 
Oh, mother ! 



SINCE MOTHER DIED. 93 

And where, oh, where are the cherished ones now? 
Four of our number have joined her there. 
One leads his braves in the cause of right, 
One comforts the dear old man to-night; 
Her babe, he lias grown to a man of care 
Since mother died. 
Oh, mother ! 

One pale and delicate all his youth, 

Now prospers well in his happy home ; 
And one — she erred, but we love her yet, 
And the days of Iut innocence never forget, 
For we know how often the sorrows come 
Since; mother died. 
< >h, mother ! 

And I each hearth hath its wandering one — 
Ah, me ! are the home joys forever down ? 
Often I sigh for a kindred's love, 
And would fly to that ark like a fugitive dove; 
Yet why do I murmur — alone, alone, 
Since mother died ? 
Oh, mother ! 



94 DRIFTWOOD. 

For oft when the shadows of twilight fling 
The breath of the evening upon my brow, 
Or the midnight hour, with its wild unrest, 
With throbbing brow to the pillow pressed, 
I have felt the thrill of that voice so low 
Since mother died. 
Oh, mother ! 

O blessed light from the spirit's love, 
Hovering over to guide and cheer, 

How ye banish the tenors of life or death ; 
Ah ! they come again with the night wind's breath. 
Welcome, dear forms that are ever near 
Since mother died. 
Oh, mother ! 

Banner Of Light, Fond du Lac, Wis., 1864. 



AFTER THE BA TTLE. 



95 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

One, the darling- of a household, a widow's only son, 
Was gathered with the wounded when the battlefield was 

won ; 
And a comrade bending o'er him smoothed his couch 

with manly care, 
While the moon looked down in pity, glinting through 

his raven hair. 

In his hand, so firm in battle, trembling lay a gilded case, 
And the dying soldier's teardrops fell upon a pictured 

face. 
Gory was the golden ringlet he so lovingly caressed, 
Till the dying hand, grown weaker, let it fall upon his 

breast. 

" Yes, I know it, Will, I'm dying ; I shall soon be out of 

pain ; 
And the home and triends so dearly loved I shall never 

see again ; 



90 DRIFTWOOD. 

Ami I ask it as a comrade, it' you should outlive the 

strife, 
That you bear my last short message to my mother and 

my wife. 

"Tell my mother to repress her tears, for the love she 

boars her son ; 
There have many noble sons been slain that victorymight 

be won : 
Ami although my life is going, ami I know 'tis sweet to 

live, 
What I now regrel most deeply is. 1 have but one to give. 

"Tell my sister 1 would give her some memento of my 

care — 
Oh, I know how they will miss me from the old familiar 

chair — 
Tell her to be brave, and tender of our mother's failing 

years : 
They will have to face the battle in life's tield o( bitter 

tears. 

" Take the lave, she's pure ami noble, she has ever been 
my pride. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 97 

Than that I should fall in battle, she herself had sooner 

died. 
Tell lier, all the love she bore me she must give my fragile 

flower, 
And the good all-seeing Father will reward life's < lark est 

hour. 

" You will go to that dear cottage where the prairie roses 

twine, 
You will meet niy own dear loved, ones in the hone- that 

once was mine, 
And my Mary — you will know her by this tress of golden 

hair, 
And hei < heek of lily whiteness, she was always frail and 

fair — 

"(iive her these — this case and ringlet, I shall never 

want them more ; 
I have never sunk in slumber but I've kissed them o'er 

and o'er. 
She will not have long to mourn me ; we shall meet full 

soon, I know ; 
She cannot face the bitter storms in this cold worhl of 

woe. 



9 8 DRIFTWOOD. 

" Raise mc — Will, I'm growing fainter ; place your arm 

beneath my head — " 
One upward glance, one sigh, a struggle, and the soldier's 

soul had fled ; 
And a light came o'er his features blending in a heavenly 

smile, 
As if angel forms were waiting in the moonlight all the 

while. 
Milwaukee Sentinel, June u, 1862. 



THE MANIACS LAST HOUR. 99 



THE MA. VI AC'S LAST HOUR. 

Dead I dead ! and away from me ? 

My darling cannot be dead I 
Let me tear up this marble slab, 

And see if it cover her head. 

Lead I and is God dead too, 

That he heard not the cry of my heart, 
To spare the dear life of my love, 

And to let not her spirit depart ? 

Lead ! and the sun is blood 

To my life, and the moon is out, 
The stars are like serpent's eyes, 
That look on a heart of doubt. 

Mad ! who said I was mad? 

How dare they to pinion me so ? 
Lo they think to divide us by death? 

No, I'll sunder the earth but I'll go. 

L.tfC. 



ioo DRIFTWOOD. 

Fiends, back again to your den, 

And briny me the soul that has fled, 
Or tear out my own heart, and fling 

In the waves of the sea of the dead. 

I la ! ha ! she is coming at last ; 

She beckons me over the reef. 
Just one leap into the dark ; 

Down, walls, and give me relief. 

I la ! So ! now the crimson tide 

From my veins in a torrent starts. 

( >h, where are the bolts and bars 

That can bind up such broken hearts? 

I am coming, my love, to you, 

On a 'wildered and tempest-tossed wave; 
One moment — how dark it grows ! 

Ah ! dying? — God pity and save. 



INSOMNIA. 



INSOMNIA. 

Pilgrim Sleep ! O wanton god ! 

Why leave so long- my lids unkissed, 
While Night, with silver sandal shod, 
Lifts her gray pinions in the east? 

1 saw thee linger by my door, 

And turn its latch, and sweetly smile, 
When, lo ! a shadowy ghost before, 
Crept noiseless in and sat awhile. 



i' 1 -' DRIFTWOOD. 



•• \\P A I. nil l CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM, " 

i sai by the fii eside »ii earning 

01 hopes Hi.it had fled with the pasl . 
l iko Hi>- roses >>i youth they had perished, 
\n»i lefl me .1 skeptic tit last 

\n,i l said, as I gazed on the enibei • 
Thai burned vyith a beautiful glow, 

Till the flames in theii upward leaping", 
l eft only the ashes below 

\ . luh is the life >>t -i moi tal, 

\ t < > i v 1 1 i < > i .i moment i > i I i g I i t . 
To die like my beautiful embers, 

Mid the shades oi a rayless uight 

k >iu e mine, like the life ili.it was glow ing 
But -i half Ihmm ago in tin- gi ate, 

Was warm with the love light within me, 
\iui l knew not tin- meaning of fate. 



4ND i in in CHILD SHALL LEAD iiiim" [03 

Till now, Willi il < (iir.l.inlly I >n )fl k n Ig , 

My in .11 1 has grown bittei and < hill, 
Ami philanthropy feeds the affei 1 Ions, 
Ami makes me •• slave to ">y will 

Ami iIhi: , [ike the glow <>< the embi rs, 

My life will go oul by and by, 
Ami i, like the ashes, forgotten, 

: hall < 1 umble i" dusl where 1 Ita 

whi'ii down through the deepening twilight. 

Ami sofl "ii il"' evening air, 
A vni' i- 1 hal was Hi-. n me whispei e< 1 

" ( )i ;,ik h hs vt the angels 1 arc 

" A:. « rushed is the vintage i»y pressure 
Thai yieldeth the 1 hoi< eel wine, 

So hearts thai have greatei missions 
\i<- < rushed by the hand <iivim " 

Then the ah seemed rilled with musi< , 
Ami the 1 louds wei e drifted aside, 

Ami 1 saw with the throng thai entered, 
My beautiful boy thai died 



i.'! DRIFTWOOD, 

And looking .it me so fondly, 

With his eyes ol the sky's own blue, 
He said, " If God cares for the sparrow, 

Pont VOU think hr will «.\nv lor VOU?* 1 



rhen 1 prayed to the Father, Forgive me. 

rake not from my life its care, 
But strength to my faint heart give mo. 

1 [fe's burdens the better to bear. 

A'. /" , Mankato, Minnesota, 1867. 



TAKE COURAGE. 105 



TAKE COURAGE. 

[Ve found in journeying up and down, 
( iood yields, where'er you mat e ii ; 

An<l win > wouM weai .1 vict< »r's 1 r< iwn , 
Must pave the way to take it. 

\\ hile some would weakly wait lor fate 

To set in fortune's favor, 
I've found the wheel of fate derides 

For him whose stroke is braver. 

When round and round the reaseless waxes 
( M opposition take you, 

When one by one, like summei leaves, 
Your summer friends forsake you ; 

When doubtful hopes, like leaden skies, 

I [ang heavily above you, 
When treai are, golden phantom, Hi- ., 

And leaves no heai t to love yon ; 



io6 DRIFTWOOD. 

Don't be afraid, but lift your head. 

Let not despair assail you, 
With earnest will and steady tread, 

Your purpose cannot fail you. 

This world's not all a wanton waste, 
But interspersed with mountains. 

And he who will may climb their crest, 
And taste their cooling fountains. 

With ruddy health and honest heart, 
) ust (lout the grim dissenter, 

When motive power the muscles start, 
Success ne'er failed a venture. 

And Fortune's wheel continuous makes 

Her varied revolutions, 
And never stays her well-poised stakes 

At half-formed resolutions. 

Be brave your heart, your standard high, 

Ami never dare forsake it ; 
Your motto this, whate'er you try, 

"I'll find a way, or make it." 



KNWIJI'S OF I'YTUIAS. 107 



KNIGHTS OF PYTHIAS. 
(anniversary pokm.) 

Another year Time's sifting sand 

Has gathered with his treasures ; 
O'er all the land, with bounteous hand, 

Swell nature's well-poised measures. 
And in the virgin lap of spring, 

Of all the seasons sweetest, 
Her buds she flings, and with them brings 

Hope's promise of completeness. 

Again the ruddy cheek of May, 

With carnate blush diffusing, 
With blossoms gay, trails in the day, 

While memory's page perusing, 
Turns back to anniversaries fled, 

That fleck the gone forever ; 
Whose fragrance shed, above, tho' dead, 

Shall be forgotten never. 



ip8 DRIFTWOOD. 

For genial seasons still will bring 

Their changes, sun o'er shadow ; 
New birds will sing with each new spring, 

New grasses deck the meadow ; 
And nature's story freshly told, 

Her goblet still renewing, 
New threads of gold among the old 

She weaves with each reviewing. 

So, smiling over winter's crest. 

She breaks his shivering lances, 
And on the breast she loves the best, 

She flings her amorous glances ; 
Till heaving with responsive dews, 

Lo ! earth with heart a-quiver, 
With passion hues, the virgin wooes, 

To recompense the giver. 

The courtly knights of olden days, 
Whose chivalry we honor, — 

Not such bright days as these, our May's, 
With golden bars upon her, — 

Saw in their festive time arise 

Nor half the shimmering splendor 



KNIGH TS OF P i ' THIAS. 1 09 

As ours, whose skies reflect their dyes, 
In lingering sunsets tender. 

For golden are our promised grains, 

That gather through their sluices ; 
The golden grains from earlier rains, 

And golden vintage juices, 
Make promise, with maturing suns, 

Fruition for to-morrow ; 
From mountain runs, in golden tons, 

Our treasury we borrow. 

And golden are the gates that bar 

The sea's pacific motion, 
As from afar the wave-rocked spar 

Speeds o'er the waste of ocean ; 
And in our harbor land-locked lay 

The fleets from every nation — 
From far Cathay, and ice-bound bay, 

From every sea-washed station. 

To consecrate and weld anew 

The sacred ties of friendship, 
Our Pythian love lor Damon prove, 

Cement fraternal kinship, 



DRIFTWOOD. 

Revive the errantry of knights, 

To kindly greet each other, 
To reunite, and in our might 

To be to each a brother. 

Thus do we celebrate the day 

Replete with most of gladness, 
When blossoms play o'er each new way, 

And leave no room for sadness. 
Thus do we press in friendship's palm 

Each hand, with clasp fraternal ; 
Through storm or calm, or rude alarm, 

Our kinship is eternal. 

Long live the recompense of good, 

The price of honor's merit, 
To those who, wooed by mercy, stood : 

Their strength may we inherit. 
To lend sweet charity to all, 

Though erring footsteps lead them ; 
Wrong tempteth all, the strong may fall 

When storms enough impede them. 

So down by Babylonian streams, 
Where sits the mourning weeper, 



KNIGHTS OF PYTHIAS. 1 1 1 

When early gleams — morn's tranquil beams — 

• Send us like willing reaper, 
Who gathers up the yellow sheaves, 

Bestowing to the gleaner, 
Whose bounty leaves, to grant retrieves, 

To him whose lot is meaner. 

We'll give benevolence indeed, 

To every cause that needs us ; 
We'll sow good seed, the hungry feed, 

Where tender pity leads us ; 
Where'er misfortune sends a blight, 

We'll give that cause assistance ; 
To every right we give our plight, 

To every wrong resistance. 

Here each one labors to advance 

The honors of his station, 
To so enhance his circumstance, 

And rise by acclamation. 
The page, who, with the titled squire, 

On knighthood is attendant, 
May still aspire to orders higher, 

Become the knisrht commandant. 



DRIFTWOOD. 

Whoe'er his plume would graceful wear, 

Must plume himself by labor, 
For none may share these honors rare 

Through merit of his neighbor. 
As sturdy knights, in valor strong 

As ever lifted visor, 
In deed or song to us belong, 

None happier nor wiser. 

And as the labors of the years 

Put nature's crown upon her, 
So he who bears our order's spears 

May win the spurs of honor. 
To chivalry and valor when, 

Each loyal cause attending, 
Indite we then by speech and pen, 

Be knighthood's day unending. 

Nor shall the chivalry of knights 

Excel our impulse human, 
We still indite, in love of right, 

The debt we owe to woman. 
One toast we pledge, and that not long, 

O woman ! ne'er forsake us ! 



KNIGHTS OF PYTHIAS. 113 

Your virtues long we'll sing in song, 
We're only what you make us. 

Then many blessings on the day, 

And to our noble order ; 
May each fair May like this be gay, 

Along time's fretted border. 
May friendship, linked with charity, 

Benevolence bestowing, 
Our watchword be, the future see 

The harvest of our sowing. 



Read May 1st, 1S78. 



114 DRIFTWOOD. 



WELCOME TO GRANT ! * 

Dear General Grant, you are welcome at home, 

Twould be hard to tell how we have missed you, 
While you have been cradled on every sea's foam. 

And crowned heads have been vicing- to feast you. 
You have journeyed, no doubt, where the flowers arc as 
sweet, 

Round the bowers of old knightly romances ; 
But the children would here cast them down at your 
feet 

As the hour of your coming advances. 

How we eagerly watched for that last homeward trip, 

Till anxiety governed our senses ; 
And theshout that went up when they signalled the ship, 

Was heartfelt and free from pretenses. 
( M course we are proud that they prize you abroad. 

And honors were each day repeating, 
But none in those far-away lands you have trod. 

Could give you so heart)- a greeting. 

* Written for Camp-Fire and Reception, to Y . S. Grant, Sept., 1879 



WELCOME TO GRAN'/! 115 

For the " boys " who went with you at Abraham's call, 

When the land with disunion was shaken, 
To defend or to die, that one star should not fall, 

( >r its place on our shield be forsaken, — 
The soldiers who shouldered their knapsacks to tramp 

Through the swamps and the poison morasses, 
To picket at night far from shelter or camp, 

To guard all the dangerous passes, — 

Their hearts arc as loyal as when in the blue, 

They followed the lifer and drummer 
On that line, the invincible order from you, 

Though it took the whole army all summer. 
Tin}- honored in peace, and they loved you in war, 

No distance can memory sever ; 
All people may love you wherever you arc, 

but the "boys" want you with them forever. 

But isn't it grand that the war-cry is hushed, 

That crimson no more arc the rivers, 
And the cheek of fraternity no more is flushed 

With the hate that our unity severs, 
Thai they who were bravest in battle" array, 

And Roman-like went to defeat you, 



Il6 DRIFTWOOD. 

The valorous hoys who defended the gray, 
Side l>y side with the blue went to meet you ? 

They only remember the happier side, 
Appomattox and Lee's sui rendei 

\'ct honor the soldier, wilh patriots' pride, 
As the country's most gallant defendei 

And we know that the roll-call of honor above, 
Since Death on his bosom has laid them, 

(.eaves noueht of the red on his signet, but love, 
And nou; hi In our hearts to upbraid them. 

And Washington, Abraham, Stonewall, and Lee 

Will still Ik; the nation's ev.ur 
With all the brave souls from the land ol the free, 

Whose muster has called to the a 

Who loving the land of our banner have died, 
The tricolor's liberty bore us ; 

May nothing the stars in its azure divide, 

And forever one banner float o'er us. 



GO AND TELL IT TO THE BE, 117 



GO AM) TELL IT TO THE B] 

FATHER, ■*.. )(. HART, WHO PAI iED AWAY AMONG HIS 
IPPLETON, WIS, 1;. HIS 75'Hf ', I 

Have you heard the olden legend 

V,y the eastern people told, 
Of the sweet, strange superstition, 

That when Death's 'lark pinions fold 
Newly round some cherished lov< 

t friend to th< 
'I y hive- must hast* 

d must tell it to tl 

Is it tru< pirit ling 

'Twixt their busy Iiv< urs, 

And that half their sweets they gather 

From the breaths of human flow 
Did some other winged thing tell them, 

When ' drifts of snow, 

To her window 1 perish, 

When she died, 



,iS DRIFTWOOD. 

I low distinctly I remember 

All those drear un-mothered years ; 
Of the lake-side and the COtta 

Where I wept my childish tears; 
How from early budding April, 

Till the autumn sered the trees, 
Every twilight found my father 

Busy with his swarms of bees. 

For they loved him and caressed him 

With their gauzy, restless wings, 
Dusty with the yellow pollen, 

( lii t about with golden rings. 
Year by year they thus enriched him, 

With the sweets from llowering trees ; 
And with each white thread that crowned him, 

Dearer grew to him the bees 

Oh! I know how they will miss him 

All the summer afternoons, 
When the languid perfume lingers 

( I'er the lily-spread lagoons. 
And the angel that received him 

Must have told among the trees. 



GO AND TELL LT TO THE BEES. 119 

Wh< 11 the dear old man, grown weary, 
Fell asleep among' the bees. 

Busy bees, cease not your humming-, 

Burdened with the summer's sweets, 
Hallowed thoughts round you are clustered, 

Where the past and future meets 
When shall come the dark-winged angel, 

And my weary spirit frees, 
Will some loving friend or kindred 

Tell it to my father's bees? 

Appleton Press. 



120 DRIFTWOOD. 



FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. 

A FAIRY LEGEND FOR FOUR LITTLE DOTS. 

Down the lane, up the lane, over and over, 
Four little dots hunt the four-leaf clover. 
Oh, queen-mother fairy, come out of the bell 
Of the four-o'clock's ruby-red lip and tell 
Where they grow. And she heard a little sob 
From Lizzie and Nannie and Helen and Bob. 

All day in the clover they vainly were trying 1 
Four little leaves on a stem to be spying ; 
For who finds this clover needs only to wish, 
To eat berries and cream from a pure silver dish. 
The fairy queen came from a white lily bell, 
And Baby Bob vanished, where no one could tell. 

Down in the grass in a nook that was shady. 
Searching again went each eager young lady. 
■' Fairy queen, fairy queen, where is our clover ? " 
"You shall learn, dots, when the searching is over. 
From a pansy's heart danced the wee fairy queen, 
And Helen and Nannie could nowhere be seen. 



FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. 121 

And Lizzie, the elder, a lone little rover, 

Looked for Helen and Baby and Nan in the clover. 

She called and she ran, and, oh ! how she tried, 

As she searched through the grass, till she sat down and 

cried. 
The fairy's wand dropped with a soft, gentle sweep. 
And the tired little darling fell fast, fast asleep. 

The sunlight came up o'er the dear fairy mother, 

And she knew how the little ones each loved the other. 

She shook out the dew from her bright diadem, 

And four leaves grew out on a soft little stem. 

She named them, and guess the four names if you can ; 

They were Baby Bob, Lizzie, and Helen, and Nan. 

San Francisco. 



DRIFTWOOD. 



GARFIELD. 

Dead ! He is dead, our beloved commander ; 
Worn out at last, his proud spirit is free ; 
Promoted to orders still higher and grander 

Than those he laid down at the ebb of life's sea. 
Care for him tenderly, angels, who came for him ; 
Noblest of earth's are the titles we claim for him. 
What more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 

Vain were the prayers to restore to our numbers. 

Vain were our tears, but God best understands ; 
Restful at last he so peacefully slumbers, 
Safe in the keeping of holier hands. 
Care for him tenderly, angels, who came for him; 
Noblest of earth's are the titles we claim for him, 
What more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 



GARFIELD. 123 

Comrade and hero, all virtues combining-, 

Soul all too pure for life's rancor and stain, 
Suffering wrongs and all pains unrepining, 
Heart of the nation, in martyrdom slain. 
Care for him tenderly, angels, who came for him ; 
Noblest of earth's are the titles we claim for him, 
What more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 

Silent the tears of the nation are falling, 

With the grief-stricken mother's, whose tenderest care 
Each hour some sweet thought of her boy was recalling, 
And devising new gifts for her hands to prepare. 
Care for him tenderly, angels, who came for him ; 
Noblest of earth's are the titles we claim for him, 
What more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 

Ami we weep for her heart who so bravely is bearing 

The grief that comes deepest to such widowed lives ; 
The weeds that she wears the whole nation is wearing. 
And we honor and love her, the noblest of wives. 
Care for him tenderly, angels, who came for him ; 
Noblest of earth's are the titles we claim for him, 
What more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 



124 • DRIFTWOOD. 

For the i hildren, thrii e blea led in a father so tender, 
Who will nevermore i luster in play al his knees, 
Our prayers we unite to the orphan's defcndi i 
Wi : are all oi lis orphaned in grieving with thi 
< '.in- for him tenderly, angels, who came for him ; 
Noblesl < 'l earth's are the titles we i laim for him, 
W'liiii more endearing in heaven will they name for him ? 

' > pirits of hen »es whose di i d i are im mortal ! 

I i bosoms "i I nil oln and Washingti >n blest ! 
tnfold and enshrine in your star fretted pi irtals 

Our beloved commander, and give to him resl ! 
Care\for him tenderly angels, who came foi him ; 
Noblesl "i earth's are the titles we claim for him, 
W'li.ii more endearing in heaven will they name for him? 
Garfield, < iui com] ade, beloved and blesl I 

San I' i; am [SI 0, Sept. ! \ I i] 



A CABIN HOME. 125 



A CABIN HOME.* 

On vvc go o'er vale and upland, 
Fragrance lills the dewy morn, 

Joyously we breathe the odors 

From the meadows newly shorn. 

Now we pass the rustic: village, 

Which so near the forest stands, 

That it seems like hidden jewel 
Girt about by emerald bands. 

Put farewell, clear quiet village, 

Other haunts than thine we seek, 

"1'is a cabin where the wild winds 
ban a budding maiden's cheek' ; 

Where the graceful woodbine twineth 

Sweetly by the cabin door, 
And a breeze, ofttimeS too playful, 

Strews its blossoms o'er the floor ; 

* Written impromptu on visiting the home of General Benj. J. Sweet, 
In the suburbs of Chiltoi ' alumet Co., Wis., in June, r.S62. 



126 DRIFTWOOD. 

Where the noise of babbling children 
Echoes through the forest wild ; 

Was there ever music sweeter 

Than the dear voice of a child ? 

And the mother's voice of welcome, 
Can we e'er forget its tone, 

Or the heart that spoke in glances 
Sympathetic with our own ? 

No, the flowers of spring may wither, 
While a fragrance still remains, 

And a lute long, long forgotten 

Wake again its sweetest strains. 

So the varied scenes that gather 
Often o'er life's changing way, 

May obscure for days together 

All the glad things of that day ; 

But when memory turns the pages, 
Pausing only with the good, 

Long she'll tarry with the warm hearts 
In that cabin near the wood. 



WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 127 



WEDDING ANNIVERSARY. 

The genial seasons come and go, 

Each in its time finds greeting, 
From April's tearful overflow, 

Through summer's songs repeating, 
When, sere, the autumn casts her leaves 

Where nature's heart is lying, 
And o'er the year's well-gathered sheaves 

December's winds are sighing. 

Each brings its weight of hidden woe, 

Each holds its joy supernal, 
As through the drifts of winter's snow, 

Spring brings her blossoms vernal. 
And clustering memories crown the years 

With more of joy than sorrow, 
For love outlives grief's bitter tears, 

And wreathes with hope the morrow. 

And blest the day that happy finds 
Surcease to loveless weeping, 



i2.s DRIFTWOOD. 

And matehood's circlet links and binds, 

Love's tender sequence keeping j 
For sacred thrills thai soulful lyre, 

When loving hands attune it. 

Whose altar shrines the nuptial fire 

Which makes two souls a unit. 

May many lie these happy hours. 

Your nuptials in reviewal. 
Strewn lie your path with hope's tail - llowers 

Each day bring joy's renewal ; 
May time, that often wanton plays, 

Crown each year as your sweetest, 
And make succeeding nuptial days 
Your happiest and completest. 

And speed the years or swift or slow, 
Till life's romance is olden, 

Though in your locks he threads of snow, 

May you have wedding golden. 

And later still, when o'er life's hars 

Four feeble steps are treading, 
May angel guests, beyond the stars. 
< live you celestial wedding. 
San i'i: vncisco, Cal., fan., 1885. 



FROM " SPIRITA THESIS." 



FROM " SPIRITATHESIS." 

There is no law of chance. 
Though Nature's bosom pulses soft and slow, 
Or with a heavier Hood her rivers flow, 

is her wild torrents tierce to rend a gorge, 
Hurls her swift lightning from her vulcan f< 
Volcano's belching down her mountain steeps, 
Or dark, coiled venom's pestilential sweeps, 
Centei i hei furies in the human mind, 
With passions carnal and to vice inclined, 
With hunger like a vulture's in his eye, 
Demoniac lust and fury raging- high ; 
Or softer sheen on placid lake she draws 
The silvery pencil of her gentler laws, 
And pads of lilies white berim her lips, 
Where crystal mirages the stars eclipse, 
Gives to the winglet of the air a zest — 
Reason or instinct, which? — to build its nest, 
Wild beasts their cunning and their cowardice 
To slay each other and shun man's device ; 



1 30 DRIFTWOOD. 

Or in her soft maternal moods she keeps 
Her starry vigils, shining while she weeps, 
Holding her children to her bosom pressed, 
And gives them dreams of an eternal rest ; 
Divinest when to erring souls she nears 
With mercy's tender and forgiving tears, — 
Whatever is, is the effect of laws, 
Obedient always to their parent cause. 
When nature deviates, her range of chance 
Lies in some unrestricted circumstance 
Hidden within the matrix where she molds 
The thing she gestates or to life unfolds. 
Whate'er to harmony or discord tends, 
True to some law her courses shape their ends. 

A'. P. Journal, Nov., [872. 



ACROSTIC. 131 



ACROSTIC. 

Kate, I would that but by wishing, 
All that's fair might be your lot, 

To some Magian would I whisper, 
Ever heed her lightest thought. 

And should time in changing ever 
Note a shadow o'er her life, 

Near her be thou, softly bending; 
Hear her in the hour of strife. 

Oh ! watch o'er her, gentle Magian, 
Wake to joy her griefs or woes. 

Ever with the golden sunlight, 

Strew the pathway where she goes. 

Memphis, Tenn., Nov. 1S63. 



132 DRIFTWOOD. 



COMPENSATION.* 

Liff."s retributive law is just : 

We harvest what is sown ; 
The pangs we bring to others' breasts 

Must surely pierce our own. 

Strong is the hand that builds the arch, 
Stronger the thought that plans ; 

Swift is the lightning's flash of words. 
Fleeter the soul's commands. 

Common the crucificial wood 

Stretched Calvary above, 
Turned priceless sandal when baptized 

By more than human love. 

* Impromptu, close of lecture, Metropolitan Temple, San Francisco, 
1884. 



COM PENS A TIOiV. 133 

Clear is the eye that, o'er life's ills 

Transfixed, still lifts to heaven ; 
Greater the soul that here forgives 

The sin to be forgiven. 

Bitter may be the blight of wrong 

That rankles the heart within ; 
But love, that waits, and time will prove 

The sinner above the sin. 

Heaven is not won by easy steps, 

But over toilsome bars, 
As over rugged mountain heights 

We climb to reach the stars. 

But whatsoe'er the devious way, 

Be this the soul's sure screed, 
That soul most helps its own advance 

That helps where others need. 

And if to gain life's recompense, 

When heaven its records scan, 
The angels make for him defense, 

Who lives or dies for man. 



134 



DRIFTWOOD. 



TO "BEESWAX." 

REPLY TO LETTER FROM LA S , WHO ISSUED THE IDEA IX 

PAMPHLET THAT HONEYCOMB WAS A FUNGUS GROWTH EVOLVED 
FROM KXCREMENT AND HEAT OF THE BODY OF THE BEI IN THE 
HIVE. 

How are you, my "Beeswax,'' you horrible tease? 
Your letter came duly, or your essay on Bees. 
Though I'm sure I was struck with an " I dear " so tunny. 
That a foolish old bear should address me " My honey." 

Your arguments many may sweetly discourse, 
Yet to people of sense they will bear little force, 
For philosophy that has to be "drawn" for a bee 
Is too weak in its points for a woman to see. 

For a man who advances an idea so dead 

Must have some time been troubled with drones in his 

head. 
That the busy and ever-industrious bee 
Should wait while the comb-cells grow up like a tree. 



TO "BEESWAX." 135 

And you ask (why so foolish I'd never have guessed 

If the comb into cells by the bee is compressed 

And brought to the hive on its body in rings, 

While you say you were too much afraid of their stings 

To ever go close to their hives on a venture, 
You are still on this topic an able commentor) : 
"Why in winter, when vegetation sleeps under the snow, 
The comb in the hives should continue to grow ? " 

The numerous flakes that lie scattered about, 
Seem all you desire to put that beyond doubt ; 
And did you but think that these flakes on the floor 
Were the caps that have covered their sweet winter store. 

lint isn't it strange that these self-scaling cans 
Should grow, to exclude all the air, without plans? 
Since you're sticking to nature without an intent, 
You must own I've an eye out for sweets that ferment. 

Perhaps I am saucy to offer advice, 

And your wrath may wax warm, if I do, in a trice, 

But nevertheless my words would be these, 

If you patiently watch you may still learn of bees. 



136 DRIFTWOOD. 

And now I'll subscribe to this doggerel rhyme, 
Ami serve you another dish some other time ; 
And as there could never be honey distilled. 
Without Beeswax to spread out its caps to be filled, 

You will pardon me now for addressing you so, 
For "Honey" comes next after Beeswax, you know ; 
And I'll pledge you my word, still as friendly and true, 
You'll find me the same, ever, Addie Ballou. 



THE WORLD MUST HAVE ITS CRUCIFIED. 137 



THE WORLD MUST HAVE ITS CRUCIFIED.* 

Far to the cast, and many years ago, 

A village nestled near a wave-washed beach 

Among- the hills. A streamlet's silver flow 

Flecked o'er the landscape's distant reach. 

High rose the swell of anthems on the air 

From steepled churches, on the sabbath day ; 

And high the tlagstaffs, on the village square, 

Flung to the wind their freedom's pennons gay 

On days of jubilee and on July the fourth ; 

And on the streets no traffic of the week 
Or roysterous voice of boys who sally forth, 

On sabbath days could any trespass make. 

* This poem refers to an incident in the memory of childhood days 
that occurred in the native village of the writer (Chagrin Falls, Ohio), 
when that glorious woman, Abbie Kelly, afterwards Foster, came there 
to advocate the abolition of the Afro-American slave. The church 
bells were tolled as she departed on her self-appointed missionary work, 
whatever the little village may afterwards have done to redeem its 
unhappy part in this affair. 



i-S DRIFTWOOD. 

Meekly the parson read his weekly text : 

" As to the least of these, so do ye unto me." 

With comments. While the deacons, sitting next, 

With warm " Amens " responded, and resignedly 

Turned down the edge of consciousness awhile, 
Nodding acceptance to the plea for grace, 

And, with complaisance, at the close would smile 

And say, " Ours really is a very godly place.'' 

And all the saintly women, in their pews, 

Smiled their approval o'er each restless fan — 

"He is so good, our minister ; I like his views — " 
And worshipped less the Maker than the man. 

One day a stranger through the village gate 

Made entrance on a mission, all of love, 

For an o'erdadened race to supplicate, 

Each saintly heart in sympathy to move. 

In modest mien and gentleness of heart, 

Yet with a fire of eloquence sublime, 

Above the rabble in the public mart 

That voice was lifted in a cause divine. 



THE WORLD MUST HAVE ITS CRUCIFIED. 139 

But straight arose that godly little town, — 

Rose up indignantly with one accord, — 

And said, while gathering the righteous frown, 

"This thing will never, never, please the Lord! 

" In scripture rendering it would appear, 

However sore the need be of the human, 

Saint Paul has made our duty clear, 

We must keep silence on the part of woman." 

Then first in order (all the brethren led) 

The village scoffer who his time employs 

With vicious rumor, or on scandal fed, 

And vulgar jests deals to the idle boys. 

And so they gossiped round about the square, 
Prospecting on the moral of the case, 

And felt abused that any woman dare 

To speak in public in their righteous place. 

The perfect women drew their skirts aside, 

And sneered at very mention of her name, 

And as she passed their way, indignant cried, 

"The wicked creature ! Tsn"t it a shame?" 



140 DRIFTWOOD. 

And so the whisper rose to be a din, 

Until the very thunders seemed let down. 

They said, "We cannot answer for this sin 

Unless we send this woman from the town." 

" They stoned the prophets in the olden time, 
And Christ was buffeted in Galilee, 

Joan of Arc they burned, and for no crime," 

She said : " What is there then for one like me? 

Then as the clustered village sank from sight, 

To that lone figure, on her toilsome way, 

The church bells clamored as at dead of night 
The fire-cry calls the sleeper to the fray. 

And still retreating from the noisy street, 

The weary pilgrim from disgrace went out. 

Toll ! toll ! ding ! dong ! the bell's funereal beat 

Died on the air with mingled noise and shout. 

To-day that silvered head is sweetly bowed 
Beneath its coronet of peaceful age, 

And justly is the nation fondly proud 

To write her record on historic page. 

Suisun, California, June 13, 1S7S. 



ur/LTY. i 4I 



GUILTY.* 

Guilty ! Yer Honor, I do not deny it ; 

I did what I could, sir, to help on the riot. 

The right or the wrong of it I don't defend, 

But where do these money sharps think it will end? 

All the days of my life I was brought up to work, 
And these hands of mine ain't no hands to shirk ; 
They be the willin'est hands, I'll be bound, 
Nor stronger nor abler than them can be found. 

I be a man for peace, too ; but if the right 
Can't come without it, then I'm for fight. 
The mouths of the children, they must be fed, 
For hunger, yer Honor, knows no law but bread. 

Just look at me, Judge, do I look like a scamp, 
Because bein' hungry has made me a tramp? 
Do 1 look like a dcadbeat, choosin' to roam, 
If work could be had, and with comfort at home . 

* Daily Post. Read by the author before the workingmen's mass 
meeting, San Francisco, August 26, 1S77. 



142 DRIFTWOOD. 

Cowardly, was it? Well, likely it may be; 
But I never knowed fear, and I ain't no baby 
To go whinin' about ; nor I ain't no sneak- 
To pander and skulk when it's blows that must speak. 

Why, I fit with Grant down the old Mississip, 
And 'twas there where the cannon's red-hot iron lip 
Spewed into my side such a foretaste of hell, 
And tore off my leg with a fragment of shell. 

I've stood picket duty with death like a ruffin, 
Waist-deep in the swamps, without blanket or coffin, 
To give decent rites to the dyin' when dead, 
With a daily allowance — two slabs of hard bread. 

And I ain't the old soldier to discount the war ; 

To help win or die was what I went for. 

Nor they won't complain, the dead, there in their graves, 

Of the forfeit they made to make free men of slaves. 

It was somethin', no doubt, to lie wastin' away 
Dead-alive in the prisons, without letters or pay ; 
But I count it all in as a part of the cost, 
And if victory ended it, nothin' was lost. 



GUILTY. 143 

We took that for glory, but our Waterloo met 

With a tax upon labor to pay the war debt ; 

With wages reduced to compete with cheap labor — 

With Chinese for rivals and the freedman our neighbor. 

Rights of property, sir ! Why, all property gained 
Is the right of the hand that by labor is stained, 
Not the grasping monopolists', who selfishly hold 
The result of the worker in fetters of gold, 

While industry begs for a pittance for bread 
That millions may pillow aristocracy's head. 
Why, these very railroads, with sinews of steel, 
Were blood-wrought from sinews that quiver and feel. 

Shall they whose hands lifted the yoke off the slave, 
Bend their heads to a yoke without effort to save 
Their manhood, their honor, the cheek of the wife, 
From the insults that crimson a beggarly life ? 

We are cursed by contractors, till labor no more 
Means honest employment and homes for the poor. 
If we're idle, we're paupers ; if we work, we are slaves ; 
If we strike out for justice, we're branded as knaves. 



144 DRIFTWOOD. 

And now, please, yer Honor, 1 plead to the charge; 

I'm guilty of dealin' out justice at large. 

But if ye'll allow me one question of grace, 

Fray, what would yer Honor have done in my place ? 



AUTOGRAPH. 145 



AUTOGRAPH. 



AN IMPROMPTU. 



When Nature first in primal dress. 
With prentice hand adorning, 

Flung over night her first caress, 
She named the glory Morning. 

With vigor, strength, ambition, rife, 
No doubt of power betraying, 

Morn represents the man in life, 
All else his will obeying. 

But later, when the toilsome day 

I ts fretful labor closes, 
When weary heart and footsteps stray 

Where peaceful love reposes, 

With tender touch of twilight spell, 
To soothe life's restive fever, 

She named, like thee, her vespers well, 

Woman, Evangel, Eva. 

Album, Miss Eva Conant. 

San Jose, California, Dec, 1883. 



146 DRIFTWOOD. 



MY AMBITION. 

Why should I stoop while others climb 

The starry steeps to fame ? 
Why should the fountains of success 

Forget to slake my flame ? 

Why should these arms forever grasp 

The vacant, empty air? 
Why fly the hopes of my pursuit 

And vanish everywhere ? 

Why proudly stand on fortune's round 

Many whose deeds in life 
Are not inwrought with more of good, 

Or half the wealth of strife ? 

My bleeding feet in vain pursue 
The paths that bloom for them, 

And cheers are theirs from lips that part 
On me but to condemn. 



MY AMBITION. 

Not for the baubles of display- 
Do I to fame aspire, 

But that it crowns with brighter grace 
The strength of high desire. 

Not for a badge of honor, bought 

At price of honor lost ; 
Not for position high in rank, 

That worth should be its cost ; 

Not for a gilded recompense, 

To pander to a pride ; 
Not that my bark adown life's stream 

Inanimate might glide ; 

But only that these unfledged powers, 
Lying conscious in my breast, 

Might leap the confines of their tomb, 
And scale each mountain's crest. 

That I might stand beside the brave 
Who dare defend the right, 

And in the conflict, weak or strong, 
Be foremost in the fight. 



147 



ufi DRIFTWOOD. 

That I might hurl to hungry ears 

The thunders of decree, 
Anticipate, from things that are, 

The things thai are to be. 

Wake with authoritative mien 

The lethargy of men, 
Tear down the altars of their wrongs, 

Ami build to right again. 

( Ileanse out the debris of their crimes 
By speech of tongue and pen, 

Bring ba< l< the man from maudlin cups. 
Redeem the magdalen. 

Give governmental power to men 

To till the idle fields, 
Thai stretching o'er the trackless waste 

No sweet fruition yield. 

Give industry to those who pace 

The pauper's listless beat, 
And on the soil God gave man free, 
Each soul a home repeat. 



MY AMBITION. 1 49 

And that the purpose of a life 

Made strong by daily pain, 
Be recognized by humane acts, 

As one not spent in vain. 

And thus with all life's purpose spent 

In deeds that bless mankind, 
Should memory's scroll enroll me still 

Round loving hearts entwined. 

And when adown the silent stream, 

To bend life's yielding oar, 
Be folded in love's angel arms, 

To wander never more. 



Dec. 1869. 



*5° 



DKU-TWUi >/>. 



LINES IN A PORTFOLIO. > 
Sweet remembrancer of friendship, 

( hi thy page a thought I'll (rare. 

Thanks, my friend, on memory's tablel 
Thine shall bear an honored place. 

May you ever live in sunlight, 

And no lin;>vrin;r storm-cloud rest 

( )'er thy life : enough of tempesl 
|ust to form a rainbow's crest. 

May thy noon of life hi' vlorious. 

Peaceful when thy day declines, 
And no friend to thee less faithful 
Than the one who pons these lines. 

* To " I s< ulapius," Overton Hospital, Memphis, Tenn., Feb. 10, 
[863. 



WHERE DO THE SEA-GULLS GO ? 151 



WHERE DO THE SEA-GULLS GO? 

Away from the docks and the shipping 
That tangle the breast of the bay, 

From the flutter of hands in the harbor, 
Our ship went sailing away. 

And as the cannon's brazen lip 

Boomed back farewell, from our good ship 
A score of snowy-breasted things 
Swooped low and drooped their downy wings, 
And rose and dropped with every swell, 
And cried in flutelike tones, "Farewell." 

Up rose the winds, and the water 

In fury leaped forward and aft, 
And the foam and the spume of the breakers 

Dashed over the decks of our craft, 
Till rocked upon a gentler swell, 
Our gallant ship uprose and fell. 

Still followed close those feathered things 

Who trip and swoop with noiseless wings, 



15 2 DRIFTWOOD. 

Those Restless birds, by day and night, 

Who seaward wing their ceaseless flisrht. 

Away and away o'er the ocean 
The track of our destinies lay, 

Through the languor of tropical evening-, 
Though the tropical languor of day. 

While still a thousand leagues from shore 

The watery waste we traverse o'er ; 
Tike phantoms of an exile troop, 
Those pinions o'er the waters droop, 
And swing and curve, and dip the main, 
Then, rising, lift their plumes again. 

And this I asked of the skipper : 
" Pray where do the sea-gulls go 

When the ships which their white wings follow 
(lo down with the wrecks below? " 

He smiled, and looking far away 

Replied, " Ours do not go that way." 

I leaven grant him right ; and yet, and yet 
The hearts that break cannot forget 
Those who along the sea-gull's track 
Go out, but nevermore come back. 



WHERE DO THE SEA-GULLS GO? 153 

With a strange yet a sweet superstition, 
A nation as free as their wings 

Believe that the bird of the ocean 
Good speed and prosperity brings. 

The mariner o'er frozen seas 

Thinks, too, the souls of men are these ; 
That angels of the so-called dead 
In these their own bright pinions spread, 
And, watchful of the wrecks and shoals, 
Bring safe to harbor human souls. 

Whatever may be the tradition, 

A truth or a -fancy of thought, 
May the wing of our angel protect us, 

That calamity follow us not, 
And lip to lip, and heart to heart, 
May all yet meet who, wide apart, 

In different ways, by land or sea, 

Pursue life's varied destiny. 

Oh, white wings, bring at last our spars 

To harbor safe beyond the stars. 

Shipboard, Zealandia, mid-ocean, June 19, 1885. 
Bell, Auckland, N. Z. 



»54 



DRIFTWOOD. 



WORMWOOD. 

I said as I gazed on her ruined life, 

I could curse the wretch who had made it so ; 

And 1 set my teeth till my purple lips 
Were rigid and cold as my heart below. 

I clutched my hand till the nails' keen edge 
Cut a furrow deep in my rigid palm ; 

I groaned aloud, " Has it come to this, 

That the wolf has ravished our sweet ewe lamb?" 

Oh, (lod ! what a thing is a woman's love, 
To be won at the cost of a life accursed, 

To be flung like a worn-out sandal off, 
To slake the fever of passionate thirst. 

Terre Haute, Ind., 1872. 



MY DREAM OF SAINT VALENTINE. 155 



MY DREAM OF SAINT VALENTINE. 

I had a beautiful dream last night, 

And bright was the vision that swelled on my sight 

As the upper world, and as wondrous rare 

As the zones that encircle the 'habitants there. 

Sweet fancy lent me her golden wings, 
And, swift as an unchained peri springs, 
Far, far I sped through the ether blue, 
Till the world in its darkness sank from view. 

Then in sudden splendor I saw arise 

The gates that open to Paradise. 

Lo ! the angel who waits in those arches wide 

Is flinging the golden barriers aside. 

I enter, it seems, with a noiseless tread ; 
I float in an air where fragrance is shed 
As sweet as the astral zephyr's sigh 
O'er the sea where the isles of the spic«s lie. 



156 , DRIFTWOOD. 

Now a gush of sweet harmony, liquid and clear, 
Bursts forth like a charm on the ambient air ; 
Now it falls to a cadence, now rises and swells 
Like the pealing- tones of the chiming' bells. 

No bough ever waved under tropical skies, 
But graces these gardens of Paradise ; 
No flower ever bloomed upon earth's fertile sod, 
But blossoms more sweet in this valley of God. 

No bird ever warbled in hawthorn or prune, 
But sings in these bowers of eternity's June ; 
No hopeless wish of the human breast, 
But finds in this heaven its want redressed. 

I glanced where the notes of a musical strain 
Came trembling up from a grass-green lane ; 
There a crystal fount in the sunlight played, 
And hanging harps by a breath were swayed ; 

There countless groups o'er the wide expanse 
Were circling round in a bridal dance. 
No harem veil hides half the grains 
That "-low amomr their lovclit faces. 



MY DUE AM OF SAINT VALENTINE. 157 

And I saw not amid that countless throng 
One heart that beat for itself alone, 
But each for another more fondly dear, 
As if no sin were in loving here. 

I sighed as I turned from the evergreen glade, 
For I thought, these joys too soon will fade. 
For I knew even then it was only a dream 
That must die with the dawn like a boreal gleam. 

As if answering back, a voice replied, — 

'Twas he who waits in those arches wide, — 

"Our joys renew with the changing years, 

And it's always Saint Valentine's day in the spheres." 

I woke ; the vision forever was gone. 

Like the hopes that spring fairest in youth's sunny dawn, 
"Or the dewdrop that rests on the lip of the flower, 
It gladdens the heart though it live but an hour. 
Chilton liepublican, Feb., 1861. 



l 5 8 DRIFTWOOD. 



NOT ALONE WITH THE NIGHT. 

Not alone with the night, 

For on billows of light, 
Like the scintillant rays of the morning's glad sun, 

Like a messenger dove, 

Wings the spirit of love, 
To crown and compensate each desolate one. 

Love with love shall be blest, 

Heart with heart shall find rest, 
When life's turbulent billows shall lash them no more. 

Though the waves and the tide. 

Wide their moorings divide. 
They will touch the same sands on the beautiful shore. 

Not alone with the night, 

Though the canker and blight 
Like a vulture have fed on the quivering heart, 

For the spirit of love, 

Like the sweet mother dove, 
Keeps watch o'er the nest till the young pinions start. 



NOT ALONE WITH THE NIGHT. 159 

Lip to lip will be pressed, 

Heart with heart will find rest, 
When these hungering souls span their circlet of years. 

Not alone with the night, 

For an angel of light 
Counts the beads of our worth by the falling of tears. 



I Go DRIFTWOOD. 



SONG STORY FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 

Auntie. — So the little ones want me to tell them a story? 
Well, what shall it be about ?— " Old mother Morey ?" 
Or the poor little kitten that drowned in the well? 
( >r "Puss in Hoots,'' and what befell 
The " King of Carabas " and his brother? 
Or " Little Jack," whose indulgent mother 
Gave him a bean of such wonderful powers, 
That it grew to the sky in a couple of hours, 
And when it had grown to a wonderful tree-, 
He climbed to its top to see what he could see, 
And there in its branches, as snug as a mouse, 
A savage old giant had built him a house ; 
How he killed the old giant, and got all his money ? 

Mary. — No, we want to hear something that's jolly and 
funny. 

Jamie. — Oh, pshaw ! can't you tell us a story that's new ? 
I know every one of those old stories through ; 
I'd like to hear one that is every bit true. 



SONG STORY FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 161 

As long as my arm, and longer too. 

Or you can make up one, I guess, that will do. 

Auntie. — Well ! let me see ; will Johnnie be good, 
And sit in his chair as a little man should ? 

Katie. — I guess he had better be put in his bed, 
For he'll go to sleep and nod off his head, 
Then what shall we do for a Johnnie to tend ? 

Jamie. — Put his dress on a pillow, a cap on the end; 
It won't make half the muss, 

And keep so much stiller, 
Nor get up such a fuss, 

Our pet, Johnnie's "piller." 
Katie. — Oh, go away, Jamie ; don't pester him so ; 
You plague him so much he don't get time to grow. 
There, Katie will take him right onto her lap, 
And then if he likes he can take a nice nap. 
And then his clothes, they will be such a pest, 
Wouldn't the little boy first be undressed ? 
There go his shoes, down onto the floor, 
Peep, little feet, I shall catch his toes, 
Out and in as they come and go, 
Under the folds of his robe of snow. 

See, just in this way, before he knows, 
ii 



162 DRIFTWOOD. 

There, hush ! Never mind, wc won't tease any more; 
There, cuddle his curly pate down on my breast. 
Lulla-by-by, 
Then shut up his eye, 
And see how nice little Johnnie will rest. 

Auntie. — Well, now for the story. Well, children, <^et 
quiet, 
And then if you'll listen well, auntie will try it. 
Well, let me sec- ; I must tell it in rhyme. 
And begin the old way: "Once on a time. 

There lived a man" 

Jamie. — That's just the way the story began 
About that terribly wicked man, 
Who strutted about in his beard of blue. 
Who killed all his wives, and hang them, ton. 

Katie. — Are you telling the tale? You had better say- 
less, 
And listen while others are talking, I "iiess. 

\i NfTIE. — Well, once on a time, a man and his wife 
Who had never done any harm in their life. 
Lived in a nice cottage just under the hill ; 
And tin- brook that rushed by turned the wheel of the 
mill, 



SONG STORY FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 163 

Where the man worked on from day to day, 
Watching the grain from hopper to sieve. 
And for a lifetime spent in that way 
It was flowery enough for any to live. 

For the cows and the pigs, and the colts and the sheep, 

That would feed on the hillside or lazily sleep 

Under the boughs of the spreading trees, 

And that row of hives with their humming bees, 

And the corn that grew in the further lot, 

And the sunflowers tall that lined the walk 

To the spring that welled from the old gray rock, 

And the children that clambered upon his knee, 

Boisterous with mirth and innocent glee, 

Were his, all told ; could he ask for more 

To add its weight to his bountiful store ? 

Well, the miller worked on from day to day, 

As free from care as his babes at play ; 

And the brook still flowed in its usual way ; 

And music sweet, like the miller's song, 

Made cheery echoes the whole day long. 

And everything seemed to be taking part 

In the roundelay of his merry heart, 

Just as everything wears a smile, you know, 

When we are happy and see them so. 



1 64 DRIFTWOOD. 

Amid the din of the dusty town, 

Lived in princely splendor a millionaire, 
With his wife, a lady of this renown, 

For queenly beauty was none so fair. 

But gold and glitter and queenly bride 

Were as empty bubbles that float on air, 

For princes will starve if fed on pride, 

And so will the heart of a millionaire. 

So, tired of the din of the crowded town, 
And loving the quiet of nature's ways, 

Ami sick of the chill of his lady's frown, 

Viewed under the mask where beauty plays, 

He wandered oft where the cooling shade 
Flung a darker green o'er vale and hill, 

And often paused where the brook was stayed 
To turn the wheel of the gray old mill. 

" Can you tell me why," said the millionaire, 
" Your life is ever so blithe and gay ? i 

For your happy heart and rustic fare 

I would give my untold wealth to-day. " 



SONG STORY FOR THE LITTLE ONES. 165 

" Heyday ! " said the man, with right good will, 
As he doffed his cap to the millionaire, 

" My thanks are first to my busy mill, 

For it feeds the sources of all my care. 

" It gives me labor, and that is wealth ; 

These sinewy arms are mines of gold : 
My cot is aglow with ruddy health, 

And virtue and love are never old. 

•' So all of the world was made for me, 

And I am akin to all that lives, 
And whether T whistle to bird or tree, 

It always echoes what my heart gives." 

The miller paused, but the millionaire 

A lesson had learned of priceless worth, 

That the hidden springs of happiness are 

In the heart's pure fountain that gives them birth. 

And now remember, my little pets, 

That life isn't always what it seems ; 
And never murmur with vain regrets, 

Though you fail to attain your golden dreams. 



1 66 DRIFTWOOD. 

For happiness lies in the reach of all, 

And to give of goodness will make it ours ; 

And if the shadows and tempests fall, 

They but bring us the odor of broken flowers. 

Mankato, Minnesota, April, 1S66. 
K- P. Journal, Chicago. 



THE BA TTLE OF SHIPS ON MOBILE BA Y. 167 



THE BATTLE OF SHIPS ON MOBILE BAY.. ON 
AUGUST 5, 1864. 

Fair as a dream of Alhambra lay 
Along the horizon a line of gray, 
As morning crept softly o'er placid bay. 

The air was balmy with sweet incense 

Which ravished the shore with perfume intense, 

For its torpor and heat a recompense. 

Laden with odors from orange trees, 
Came only a sigh of the lightest breeze, 
To quiver the breast of the summer seas, 

Like the smile that ushers prophetic gloom, 
As calm that presages the dread simoom, 
The song of the phoenix triumphant in doom. 

While yet the morn's first pennons play, 

The fleet already is under way 

For the famous battle on Mobile Bay. 



168 DRIFTWOOD. 

Girded together and two abreast, 
Octorora and Brooklyn leading the rest, 
Forward in line on the enemy pressed. 

Boom ! over the waters the first report, 

The enemy's challenge comes from the fort; 

And, boom ! comes the enemy's quick retort. 

Gun answers to gun in quick return. 
Vomiting fire : from stem to stern 
The ships seem in livid flame to burn. 

Wildly the red-lipped cannons shriek, 
fixed is the bronzed old Admiral's cheek, 
Command and courage his firm lips speak. 

On, on, the marshalled mariners sped 
Through the hot hail of fire and lead, 
Tecumseh, with Cramer, this time ahead. 

" Hard a-starboard!" commanded he. 
Ami dashed straight on to the Tennessee ; 
Oh, Cod ! what a sight was that to see ! 

Shaken as if by an earthquake shock, 

Riven as if by a sunken rock, 

A hidden torpedo midway she'd struck. 



THE BA TTLE OF SHIPS OA r MOBILE BA Y. 169 

Headforemost plunging- with all her brave ; 
And Craven, while trying his pilot to save, 
A hero went down in the pitiless wave. 

Point Mobile, a living line of flame, 

Red as the fires of Hades became, 

But the command kept steadily on the same. 

Shrapnel and canister, shell and grape, 
Riddled with seam and many a gape ; 
What from destruction could hope to escape ? 

But what was the thunder of shot and shell ? 
What were the fires of that threatening hell ? 
His was to do, and to do it well. 

And out of that day of smoke and flame 
Rose many a hero's honored name, 
And gave to the Admiral added fame. 

For victory followed their deeds that day. 
Who followed where Farragut led the way, 
In that battle of ships on Mobile Bay. 

San Francisco, Cal., May 3, 1883. 



1° 



DRIFTWOOD. 



AUTOGRAPH LINKS.* 

Since scores of friends indite the muse, 

In poesy to greet you, 
Though mine can never fill their shoes, 

And limping goes to meet you ; 

Though others drink the choicest wine 

To you in pledges vernal, 
Whose friendships are more close than mine, 

Though none the more eternal, 

Accept at least one wish sincere, 

Though silent its expression, 
Unless the angel of good cheer 

Inspire you by impression : 

Believe at least, though prone to sin. — 
You know sin came through woman, — 

No heart e'er brat a breast within 
More true to all that's human. 
Impromptu, Album, Wm.M. Ryder, San Francisco, Nov. [881. 



DEDICA TION, WASHING TON HALL. 171 

DEDICATION, WASHINGTON HALL. 

BY LINCOLN POST, G. A. K. 

Hail ! comrades of the loyal host, 

Who wear the badge of honor, 
Who, faithful to the nation's trust, 

When treason sat upon her, 
Took up the armor of defense, 

Unswervingly to wear it, 
To break the sword that gave offense, 
And tame the traitor spirit ! 
So here's a toast 
To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one ; 
Heaven prosper all, 
And bless the hall, 
We name for Washington. 

Here oft on memory's well-fought field, 

With riddled banners flying, 
Will scattered foes retreat and yield 

Their captured dead and dying. 



17 J DR/FTWOOD. 

For time shall make these walls replete 

With many a thrilling story, 
Which aging veterans repeat 
Of anguish and of glory. 

So here's a toast 

To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one ; 

Heaven prosper all 

And bless the hall 
We name for Washington. 

Here pictured be the hallowed past, 

In memory's rehearsal, 
As echoes on our dreams are cast, 

Successes or reversal. 
Bivouacked on the tented plain. 

The camp fires smoldering glimmer, 
With tramping armies through the rain, 
The lines of bayonets shimmer. 
So here's a toast 
To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one ; 
Heaven prosper all, 
And bless the hall, 
We name for Washington. 



DEDICA riON, WASHING TON HALL. 173 

The picket and the skirmish line, 

That fluid in canteens, boys ! 
The forage, and the countersign, 

The mess of pork and beans, boys ! 
The contraband, the ambulance, 
The song and dance and juba, 
The rebel matron's scornful glance, 
The "Glory hallelujah." 
So here's a toast 
To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one ; 
Heaven prosper all, 
And bless the hall, 
We name for Washington. 

And sweetly still those oft-told tales 

Their text will be repeating ; 
Nor lost until remembrance fails 

To bring her welcome greeting. 
Whate'er the chances to forget, 

Some note will still remind ye, 
Some cherished chord make dearer yet 

"Thegfirl I left behind me." 



174 DRIFTWOOD. 

So here's a toast 
To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one ; 
I leaven prosper all, 
And bless the hall, 
We name for Washington. 

We'll pledge anew our cause to-night, 

Renew the grip fraternal, 
God and our country in the right ! 

lie loyalty eternal ! 
May charity, that star most lair 

( )f all the constellation, 
Hless with her all-protecting care 
Tin' saviors of the nation. 
So here's a toast 
To Lincoln Post, 
We'll pledge it every one; 
I [eaven prosper all, 
And bless the hall, 
We name for Washington; 



THORNS INTERTWINE THE CROWN OF BAY. 175 



THORNS INTERTWINE THE CROWN OF BAY. 

O bleeding feet that steadfast climb 

The toilsome heights that rise afar ! 
sleepless eyes whose light sublime 

Pales not the reflex of the star 
Whose torch through night trails up the morn ! 

suppliant hands that clasp for aye ! 
O hearts with vigils racked and torn ! 

Pierced is the brow that wears the Bay. 

He may not reap the golden grain, 

Too late his sickle for the sheaf, 
Nor feel the cooling plash of rain, 

Where burning sands invoke relief, 
lie may not pause where pleasures lure, 

Nor youth renew where children play, 
But ever on with purpose sure 

Pursue, whose brow would wear the Bay. 



176 DRIFTWOOD. 

He hears the cooling waters drip 

Down rocky basins, deep and cool, 
Nor slakes the fever of his lip 

Beside the summer-verdured pool. 
No moss-grown bank beguiles his rest, 

He may not note the nestling's lay, 
Nor pause to clasp a maiden's breast, 

Thorns so entwine the crown of Bay. 

lie may not quaff the festive bowl, 

'Mid flowing wit and merry jest, 
Hut he must heed the trumpet's call. 

And nerve his arm to greater zest. 
Nor stay the tide on weltering field 

Of carnage red, where brothers slay, 
To grave his name on glory's shield, 

And wear the blood-stained crown of Bay. 

For him envenomed tongues distill 

Their viperous breath, to blight and curse, 

With maledictions loud and shrill 

His noblest deeds would fain reverse ; 



THORNS INTERTWINE THE CROWN OF BAY. 177 
But happy he, vvhate'er the cost, 

When stars light up his closing- day, 
Whose shield denotes no honor lost 

That he might wear the crown of Bay. 

High as the overarching bars 

That gird the ever-widening skies, 
Far-reaching as the eternal stars, 

O soul, for fame's imperial prize, 
O'er rocks and deserts' boundless sands, 

Through haunted caves obscured of day, 
Famished, unfed, on bounteous lands, 

Death brings at last the immortal Bay. 

O'erwrought and toilful to the end, 

Sowing for other hands to reap ; 
Soul-hungering for a faithful friend, 

Unmourned, at last, to rest and sleep. 
A century — and his resting-place 

Denotes his worth in tardy praise ; 
A benefactor to his race, 

A saint in marble, crowned with Bays. 

Argtcs, San Francisco, Christmas, 1891. 
12 



178 DRIFTV/OOD. 



INMEMORIAM.* 

Farewell to thee, comrade ! Death's silence is over thee ; 

Cold is the hand once so brave to defend 
The emblem whose folds now so tenderly cover thee ; 
Peace to thee, patriot, comrade, and friend. 
All of life's history, 
All of death's mystery, 
And all that the triumph of waking makes known, 
Through rest, in promotion, at last is thine own. 

Farewell to thee, comrade ! Where duty was known to 
thee, 
Faithful and true as the star to the pole ; 
What was life's crucifix leave we alone to thee ; 
Only the angels may question the soul. 
Nature's supreme decree, — 
Death's final reveille, — 
Summons thee higher and gives thee release; 
Be cherished thy memory ; rest thou in peace. 

* Suggested at the funeral of comrade Capt. C. P. Kelly, San Francisco, 
April, 1883. 



IN ME MORI AM. 179 

Farewell to thee, comrade ! Life's battle is o'er for thee ; 

Death but endears what it cannot restore ; 
Surely eternity holds much in store for thee, 

Angels make welcome whom we most deplore. 
Close in with rank and file, 
We, too, must pass erewhile, 
When ripe for the summons that none can foretell. 
Peace to thee, comrade ! Till then fare thee well. 



i8o DRIFTWOOD. 



A MODERN PERI.* 

One morn at the legislative gate 

A woman stood disconsolate, 

For well she knew, in her despair. 

That none of her sex could enter there ; 

Whate'er her grievance or great her wroi 

The lesser must yield to the will oi the strong. 

Awliile she listened to the din 

( >f arguments that clashed within, 

Yet all with good intentions tending, 

The people's honest cause befriending, 

And caught a glimpse of the gold that flowed 

From the people taxed, for their good bestowed. 

" Alas ! " she said, " it is awfully hard 

From these rich endowments to be debarred." 

" How happy," she thought, "these men must be, 

In their cushioned chairs and abandon I 

• A n impromptu with a meaning, during the legislature of 1SS0. Sacra- 
ni n to Bee, 



A MODERN PEA' I. 

Well fed and warmed." And yet she knew 
They were weary with too much nothing to do. 
" Why may not to me some sweet crumbs fall? 
A common mother created us all." 

The august Solons heard her pleading 

For the orphaned lives that were interceding, 

Then turned away witlx crocodile tear. 

" Alas ! no woman can enter here, 

At least — unless — well, hardly any. 

You see, my dear, they number so many. 

But stay," he cried, " one chance might be ; 

Put in your claim for a clerk," said he. 

" Child of a frail, angelic sex, 

To aid your cause we would break our necks.'' 

Then a partisan imp flew down from the wall, 
And in passing gave an unearthly squall. 
" They are giving you taffy — he ! he ! ha ! ha ! 
I wish you success. Farewell, ta-ta ! " 

" I'll go," she said, " to the richest cavec 
In the sea of memory's murmuring waves. 
There's a pearl wrought out of a grateful tear, 
Down, down in the past of a scarlet year." 



182 DRIFTWOOD. 

So lifting the wing of a speeding thought, 
She trembling stood by the hallowed spot. 
On a smoking field, with carnage red, 

One face she lifted, her loved and dead. 

"See, this I gave, but rest thou alone" 

Away she sped to a dying- moan. 

And a smile lit up the parching lips 

As they quaffed the cool drink, and her finger-tips 

Strayed gently over his fevered head, 

Then on to the next, and to each she said, 

" ( rod bless you, boys, and the mothers of men 

Who made you so noble." They answered, "Ainen. 

"See, see 1 " she i ried, as she stood at the gate 

Whose hinges turn on the pivot of state — 

■ ' See, here is bl< >od on a h >ck of hair, 

And the grateful wish of a loved one's prayer, 

Soldiers restored to the thinning ranks." 

" For this the country returns you thanks. 

Be thus contented, for that, you know," 

Said the senator soldier, " was long ago. 

Some other tactics you'll have to try, 

Though the 'open sesame' be very nigh ; 

Constituents first, and men that live, 

( [aim all the positions the state can give. 



A MODERN PERI. 183 

Try something- stronger than this, my dear ; 
We're bound you yet shall have something here. " 
And one of them said with a knowing wink, 
"We'll tire these women out soon, I think.'' 
And drawing a sigh from his manly breast, 
" Oh, shortly these women will give us a rest ! " 
Yet she knew as she scanned the beardless faces 
Around the committees, for clerkship places, 
That they would be voters by and by. 
And yet again she said, " I'll try ; " 
Though she knew, whatever the promised truce, 
Masculinity cookcth the woman's goose. 

Then again the voice with unearthly yell, 

" Are they giving you taffy again ? Well, well." 

With hopes all a-droop, like a wet mother hen 

She clucked to her brood, but, alas ! there and then 

She learned what it was to be patient and wait, 

And the justice that comes through the servants of state. 

Where there's no inclination there's always excuse, 

And a hopeful refusal is less than abuse. 

But, oh ! to be told — we are all of us human — 

"If you want to be favored, why, don't be a woman ; 



184 DRIFTWOOD. 

At least don't grow old. Leave us with the laws. 
We'll care for your children if they should give cause; 
That's why we have prisons and courts and all that, 
And the poor-house for you, when you're old, sick, and 
flat." 

" For favors? Why, even there's value in blood, 
And color is foremost, as is well understood. 
Go, woman ! content to look over the wall, 
The ballot alone ope's the doorway to all.'' 

Once more the vulture, with mocking shriek, 
Dropped venom from his gall-tipped beak : 
" Why don't you do as the millions do — 
( live back the taffy they give to you ? " 



MEMORIAL POEM. 185 

MEMORIAL POEM.* 

No. 1. 

Scatter the garlands of roses, 

And all the sweet blossoms of May, 
Above each low mound that encloses 

The perishing- patriot's clay. 
They who went out in the glory 
Of hope and the rapture of life, 
To fields that were smoking and gory, 
And were foremost to lead in the strife, 
Oh, cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

They were the truest of brothers, 

They were the bravest of men ; 
And the pride of the Roman mothers 

Was blessed in our sons again. 
For what was the smoke of battle 

Or the thrust of sabre or sword, 

* Read by Miss O'Brien, the elocutionist, Memorial Day and also even- 
ing. May 31, 1880, Sacramento, Cal. 



186 DRIFTWOOD. 

The cannon's or musketry's rattle, 
To national honor restored ? 
Then cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

Guarding the dangerous passes, 

With never a heart dismayed, 
Down by the poison morasses, 

Where pestilence indolent stayed, 
Down by the turbulent river. 

And marching on to the sea, 
Yet guarding the colors forever, 

Whatever the danger might be. 
Then cover them tenderly; over them all, 
bike a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

See what they gave US in dying ! 

<) banner undimmed of your stars, 
The grasses above where they're lying, 

Oh, kiss with the sweep of your bars, 
For never again will they wake them, 

( )r recall them to duty or pain. 
T.et our gratitude never forsake them, 

Who sleep 'neath the dvw and the rain. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 187 

But cover them tenderly ; over them all, 

Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

Over the clustering tresses 

On brows that were white as the snow, 
On lips that some memory kisses, 

So speechless and silent below, 
Hands we have clasped so tightly, 

Arms so protecting and brave, 
Prized we not all too lightly, 

Till hid by the pitiless grave? 
Then cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

In the star-fretted evening, often, 

When the night with her gems is set, 
Sad mem'ries our hearts will soften, 

Of comrades we cannot forget ; 
And we'll weep for the manly graces, 

Lying under the silent clay, 
And weep for the tear-stained faces, 

They left when they went away. 
Then cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 



1 88 DRIFTWOOD. 

And millions of duskier faces, 
Forever above their graves, 
Will bless these, while history traces 
They died to make men of slaves. 
Then let us rejoice, for the angel 
Who laurels the deeds of worth 
Hath sent us a nation's evangel, 
And peace is again upon earth. 
Then cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 

For the grandest of nations no longer 

With the spirit of anger is rife ; 
And each year shall be riveted stronger, 

The hearts that were foes in the strife. 
And at last when the final muster 

Calls each to the ramparts above, 
Around him his comrades will cluster, 

With charity, friendship, and love. 
Then cover them tenderly ; over them all, 
Like a mantle of love, let the sweet blossoms fall. 



MEMORIAL POEM. **? 



MEMORIAL POEM. 
No. 2.* 

Scatter above them the garlands of blossoms, 

And laurel them all, these dead heroes of ours. 
So still are the hands that are crossed on the bosoms 

Of those who lie sleeping beneath the bright flowers. 
How brave were their hearts when in peril the nation 

Was tossed on the waves of dissension and death, 
And war's crimson hand scattered wild desolation, 
Bringing terror and woe on the Souths sultry breath. 
Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 

* Written for and read Memorial Day services, Opera Mouse, San 
Francisco, Cal., May 31, 1S80. 



190 DRIFTWOOD. 

(Over the forms we had hopefully cherished, 

Hands we have clasped in love's tender embrace; 
( >h ! we grieve that our darlings so early have perished 

In the pride of their manhood, their beauty, and grace. 
( >li, the beautiful curls and the soft sunny tresses, 
Mouldering and damp with the blight of decay ! 
Lips cold and still some sweet memory presses, 
Again their sweet smiles o'er the ruby curves play. 
Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 

Beautiful eyes we so loved are forever 

Shut out from the light and the glory of day, 
And we weep as they wept at the parting, for never 

Will the shadow and blight on our hearts pass away. 
Oh, long were the years to lie silent and lonely, 

It death were the sequel to duty and pain. 
And for us they have died, for such recompense only 
As falls to the heroes who die not in vain. 

Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 19 1 

Blanched were the cheeks of the mothers who bore them, 

When the clarion of duty called their sons to the fray. 
But never their prayers to their breasts can restore them, 

Who thus in their manhood were summoned away. 
Like the mothers of Sparta, their anguish defying-, 

They laid the bright sword on the national shield, 
And bade them be brave, though the leaden hail flying 
In death-dealing terror swept over the field. 

Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 

May forever unsullied the banner float o'er them, 

Who shed their red blood for the red of its bars ; 
Oh, proud be the folds that in battle upbore them, 

To save from dishonor, who died for its stars, 
And long may the nation her flowers above them, 

Begem with her laurels each patriot's grave, 
And gratefully prove that we honor and love them, 
Whose lives paid the forfeit a million to save. 
Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 



I rj 2 DRIFTWOOD. 

And for those sadly lost with the nameless and missing, 

Where no hand can scatter love's tribute to-day, 
A monument build in your hearts tilled with blessing, 

And forget-me-nots twine in the chaplet of bay. 
For white are their deeds who, as shoulder to shoulder, 

Go down in the fury of merciless wars ; 
And white was the angel who summoned the soldier 
Whose muster records him among the bright stars. 
Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 

But the Bethlehem star of our nation has risen, 

And peace spreads again the white fleece of her wing; 
No more o'er the plains shall the batteries glisten, 

And the war cry, "To arms ! " down the broken lines ring. 
And they who were bravest where duty was calling, 

Are first after peace to be brothers again. 
And proud over all is our flag softly falling, 

Where freedom and peace o'er a happy land reign. 
Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father, and brother, and husband, and lover. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 193 

And we know when at last over life's fretful ocean, 

The shadow of night o'er each veteran falls, 
And the angel above gives to valor promotion, 
And to Death's final muster the patriot calls, 
That marshalled a-near in the ether to greet them, 

With "Abraham " leading the armies above, 
Their glorified comrades will cluster to meet them 
With charity, friendship, and brotherly love. 

Then tenderly down on the grass and the clover 
Scatter the blossoms and cover them over, 
Father and brother, and husband, and lover. 



i 9 4 DRIFTWOOD. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 

No. 3. 

An! wc sadly remember that star-fretted morning, 
When only a cloud swept athwart the pale east, 
Yet e'er midday was muttered a nation's wild warning, 

And at sunset with gloom all our sky overcast. 
For flash upon Hash, and with voice of the thunder, 

A challenge from Sumter, with death on the air, 
(lave never a moment to pause or to wonder, 

The three hundred thousand equipped for the war. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

Brave were the hearts of the wives and the mothers, 
Who gave up their dearest, their husbands and sons ; 

Ah ! they were the truest, the grandest of brothers 
That e'er laced an enemy's threatening guns. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 195 

They were the pride of our homes and the nation, 

Stalwart of heart as their patriot sires 
Who defended the right against foreign dictation, 
When the old " Revolution " had kindled her fires. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

Oh, the long weary months of suspense and of waiting, 

Of praying, of fearing, of absence and tears ; 
Through the vigils of night, with a faith unabating, 

Till the anguish of months made the compass of years. 
And many with hopeful good-by at the parting 
Came nevermore back to our bosoms again. 
Where they fell on the field are the wild grasses starting; 
Where they sleep fall the dews and the summer-time 
rain. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

O beautiful eyes on whose lids are forever 

The kiss and the tears and the mildew of death, 



Jg 6 DRIFTWOOD. 

From your home with the stars do you watch for us 
never ? 
Do your lips never speak in some sweet blossom's 
breath ? 
Oh, they sleep yet they rest not, for over and over 
They walk by our side in the land of our dreams, 
And softly as falleth the dew on the clover 

Or the shimmer of stars on the bosom of streams. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

And sometimes the touch of these perishing fingers, 

Now pulseless and cold on the bosoms below, 
Seems clasped with our own, while fond memory lingers 

Like the perfume of violets under the snow. 
And sometime we know that our eyes shall behold them 

When the summers and winters are over and gone, 
In the land of hereafter our arms shall enfold them, 
Where death never takes from our bosoms our own. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green passes that over them grow. 



MEMORIAL POEM. 197 

Year after year how the comrades are passing 

The river of mists to the shadowy land, 
And white are the feet that while evermore crossing' 
Leave naught but their print on the desolate sand, 
Till all shall be gone but a legend, a story, 

The sword of the grandsire, a rusted carbine, 
A uniform covered with dust and with glory, 
In the garret a knapsack and soldier's canteen. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

And white are the plains where bivouac the angels 

Whom Death on his roll-call has mustered on high, 
Where picketed still are the nation's evangels, 

The vanguard that guides on our march to the sky. 
And at last when each veteran's name for promotion 

Is called to advance with the last countersign, 
The angel on guard, for heroic devotion, 

Will bid him " fall in " with the heavenly line. 

Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 



198 DRIFTWOOD. 

So let the children of soldiers spread o'er them 

A mantle of blooms, and bedew with their tears 
The graves of the heroes who, in valor before them, 

Gave to country their lives to win freedom for theirs. 
Then gratefully let us remember and cover 

With flowers and the folds of our banner's bright bars 
The graves of the sire and the son and the lover, 
Who died for mankind and the union of stars. 
Droop softly and low o'er the mounds below, 
Flag of our country and lilies of snow ; 
Kiss the green grasses that over them grow. 

Sacramento, Cal., May 31, iSSi. 



CJIANCELLOKSV1LLE. 199 

CHANCELLORSVILLE. 

(keenan's three hundred.*) 

In the deepening gloom of the forest of pine, 
Three hundred horsemen were stirrupped in line. 
Here were the batteries, broken and routed ; 
Dismayed, panic-stricken, the wild rabble shouted. 

* It was one of those tragic episodes of the war at Chancellors ville 
when sunset found our army badly confused and disorganized and driven 
wildly along its center. General Sickles' battery and General Pleasan- 
ton's cavalry were nearly a mile away and were not in order, but were 
" parked " awaiting orders. And General Howard's Eleventh Corps were 
completely surprised. On came Stonewall Jackson's immense corps, 
pursuing the fugitives of infantry, artillery, ambulance, pack mules, ne- 
groes, and stragglers. Nearer and nearer through the woods came the 
Confederates' yell and the rush of Jackson's victorious legions, twenty 
thousand strong. General Pleasanton, riding in front of the guns, saw 
that delay was the only way to prevent our utter demolition, and he gave 
to Major Keenan, who rode at the head of three hundred horsemen, the 
order so fatal to him, yet which alone saved the day. Said he, " Major, 
you must charge into those woods with your men and hold the enemy in 
check till I get these guns in position. You must do it at all costs." 
Keenan replied, " It's the same as saying you must be killed," but with 
a smile he added, " General, I'll do it." They made the charge, delayed 
Stonewall Jackson's famous corps until Sickles' came up with reinforce- 
ments, and the day was saved. 



200 DRIFTWOOD. 

Artillery, infantry, maddened by fright, 
Confused and disordered, took refuge in flight 
Commands out of order were given at random, 
Ambulance, pack-mule, and stragglers in tandem, 
'.Mid thunders of cannon and shrieking of shell, 
The fugitives flying, the Confederates' yell, 
The smoke and the carnage, the impress of hell, 

They rode as never men rode before. 

Rider and horse, to return no more! 

They bravely rode and they bravely fell, 

At the close of that day at Chancellorsville 

[•'lashed and shimmered the grand display, 
The gleam of sabre and bayonet's play, 
Along the sunset a line of gray, 
Of the legion, less than a mile away. 
Twenty thousand followed the lead 
Of Stonewall Jackson's silvered head, 
As hurrying fast and hurrying faster, 
To make more sure our dire disaster, 
Pressing closely upon us then, 
Like a wall of death, came Stonewall's men. 
To meet them, as never men rode before, 
Rider and horse, to return no more ; 



CHANCELLORS VILLE. 

Undaunted they rode who so nobly fell 
At the close of that day at Chancellorsville. 

Then suddenly forward, in front of the guns, 
Rode stern, brave General Pleasanton. 
"Align those pieces," commanded he. 
Oh for time to impede that human sea 
E'er it sweeps us down ! — but an hour's delay 
To rally in order ! It would save the day. 
Delay we must the advancing host, 
Engage their column or all is lost. 
Too late to reckon the terrible cost, 

They rode as never men rode before, 
Rider and horse, to return no more ; 
They rode to death, but they glorious fell 
At the close of that day at Chancellorsville. 

Three hundred brave horsemen Keenan led. 
"Charge into those woods," the General said. 
" Whatever the cost to your noble head, 
Keep them in check till we right our guns." 
Through his veins the blood of a hero runs. 
One moment, a flash of his eagle eye, 
Then his brow reflected the sunset sky 



202 DRIFTWOOD. 

As he bared it, responsive to the command. 

Then with a sweep of his manly hand, 

" I'll do it, General ! It is only to die ! 

But where duty calls loudest there ever am I." 
They rode as never men rode before, 
Rider and horse to return no more, 
Keenan's three hundred, who grandly fell 
At the close of that day at Chancellorsville. 

All honor to those who, thus quick to obey, 

To their death hurried forward and saved us the 

day. 
Glory has known other heroes before, 
But bravery was never deserving of more. 
They died, yet they live in the nation's warm 

heart ; 
On the tablets she notes they have graven their 

part, 
And the star that most radiant evermore keeps 
Bright vigil above where a patriot sleeps. 
And remembrance each season fresh chaplets will 

bind, 
Till our feet, marching on to that city, shall find 
The heroes who bravely have died for mankind. 



CHANCELLORSVILLE. 203 

With those who rode as never before, 
From earth to eternity's beautiful shore, 
The immortal three hundred who gallantly fell 
At the close of that day at Chancellorsville. 

San Francisco, Cal., Feb. 15, 18S3. 



204 DRIFTWOOD. 

THE CHARGE UPON THE HILL. 

Nightfall darkened down the mountain, stifled seemed 

the silent air, 
Heavy with portending- omens that preceded strife of 

war. 
Moonbeams pencilled through the hollys, shadowed o'er 

the river's breast, 
As the troops upon the hillside stacked their arms and 

went to rest. 

Midnight's hour, and all was silent as the garden of the 
dead, 

Save the watchword of the sentries pacing on with meas- 
ured tread, 

And the rushing of the river. Slowly up the smoke-cloud 
crept 

From the many smoldering camp-fires ; all was silent, 
nature slept. 

Morning came ; dread consternation spread throughout 

the circling camp, 
And the distant hills reechoed with the horseman's heavy 

tramp. 



THE CHARGE UP OX THE HILL. 205 

And the clanging and the shouting of the fast approach- 
ing foe 
Thrilled the hearts that beat for freedom, with a patriotic 
glow. 

On they came, that charge of horsemen ; fearful raged 

the deadly strife, 
Till the river's current, ebbing, seemed a tide of human 

life. 
Now they waver ! now they rally ! foot to foot and 

hand to hand ; 
Now they strike those rebel colors ! now they falter ! — 

see, they run ! 

Victory ! Ah ! we have conquered ; heroes, ere you sink 

in death, 
See the starry emblem triumph, bless it with your dying 

breath ! 
See the shattered host retreating, how they scatter as they 

run ! 
God is with us ! we have beat them, and the field is fairly 

won. 



2 /, DR/f TWOOD. 

[leaps ol mangled forms, and dying, lay upon the tram- 

pled sod ; 
II' ap of breathlesi form were lying, they were gathered 

home to God. 
Filling up the gaping trenches with the foemen's fallen 

dead, 
Where- the panic-stricken scattered, where they left them 

v. hen they fled. 



One among the fallen heroes crept beneath a shadowy 

bough, 
And ili'- death-dew slowly gathered o'er his pale and 

manly brow, 
And his dying eyes grew brighter with a new and sudden 

light, 
As the memory of the homestead crowded in with visions 

bright. 



And his husky voice grew faiider, sank- to whispers weak 

and low : 
"Comrade, raise me — lam going — feel my pulses, how 

they go ; 



THE CHARGE UPON THE HILL. 207 

Wet my lips — then listen to me — for my strength is failing 

fast ; 
Lay your palm upon my forehead till this fearful pain is 

past. 

"You will go and see them, won't you? " — then his eyes 

grew dim with tears — 
"Tell my mother I would gladly comfort all her failing 

years. 
But the Father who has called me careth for a lonely 

heart ; 
We shall meet in the hereafter where the loving never 

part. 

"Many others on the altar of our country's cause have 

laid 
Lives as precious to another as the sacrifice she made. 
To my gray-haired patriot grandsire, only this to him I'll 

say, 
Through the hottest of the battle I have bravely fought 

to-day. 

"Tell my sister — give me water — tell her never to regret 
That she gave her soldier brother — tell her I did not 
foreet 



208 DNIJ'TWOOD. 

All the counsels that she gave me — oh, she tried to be so 

brave, 
As she said, ' I fear, my brother, you will fill a soldier's 

grave. ' 

"There's another, not a sister — closer bend your lace to 

mine — 
It is Katie! — yes? you know her — oh, I know her heart 

will pine 
For the words of tender meaning — she was fragile as a 

flower — 
Tell her that 1 kept her image foremost, even in the battle 

hour. 

"Raise me quick ! I'm sinking — fainting — and I long 

once more to gaze 
Where the dear old starry banner o'er the field triumphant 

sways. 
Farewell, comrade ! " Then a quiver shook his frame, 

and all was still. 
And they laid him with the heroes of the charge upon the 

iiil'i. 



LONG AGO. 209 



LONG AGO. 

There's a stream whose crystal waters 

Lave the sands of golden hue ; 
There's a cottage twined with roses, 

Spangled o'er with morning dew ; 
There the summer-scented clover 

And the violets used to grow, 
When the feet of guileless childhood 

Pressed the banks of long ago. 

Long ago ! how memory lingers ! 
Touched again by angel fingers 
Are the chords that sweetly murmur 

Of the golden long ago, long ago. 

Eyes that beamed with loving meaning, 
Hands that smoothed bur couch of rest, 

Closed to look no more upon us, 
Folded on a pulseless breast. 



14 



to DRIFTWOOD. 

Like the drifting flecks of shadow 

Where the water-lilies grow, 
So the threads of silken tresses 
Floated from us long ago. 

Long ago ! how memory lingers ! 
Touched again by angel fingers 
Are the chords that sweetly murmur 
Of the golden long ago, long ago. 

We shall cross that mystic river, 

When love's partings come no more ; 
We shall clasp the waiting angels 

Of the loved and gone before, 
By and by, some glad to-morrow, 

When life's tide shall outward flow, 
When the shadows now about us 

Shall be with the long ago. 

Long ago ! how memory lingers ! 
Touched again by angel fingers 
Are the chords that sweetly murmur 

Of the golden long ago, long ago. 

Springfield, Ohio, 1871. 



RECEPTION TO PAUL VANDERVOORT. 211 



RECEPTION TO PAUL VANDERVOORT, GRAND 
COMMANDER, G. A. R. 

Thrice welcome to our Golden Gate, 

Our comrade and commander, 
Proudly the tribute of our state, 

In welcome, we surrender. 

Much claims he from the soldiers' hearts ; 

Worth makes the comrade dearer ; 
Who honor to our cause imparts 

Is still our color-bearer. 

The soldier then is comrade still, 

Around him fondly cluster 
Such greetings of our right good will, 

To this our general muster. 

The serried years of time's recruit, 

Since camping out together, 
Have put the enemy to rout ; 

We now are one forever ; 



212 JiR/FTWOOD. 

Have furrowed lines on many a brow, 
And many locks have whitened ; 

Age many a form has made to bow, 
And death our ranks has lightened. 

Still memory holds a full canteen, 
Though comrades an; divided 

As wide as oceans arc between ; 
( )ur kinship is decided. 

Remembrance sees the curling smoke 

Where lingering cam]) fires smolder, 
Repeats the SOng and merry joke ; 

The hymn book of tin; soldier 
> 
Brings from its well-planned hiding-place 

(Would you suspect?) a hard tack, 
With all a soldier's sinful grace, 

1 lis euchre deck — a card pack ! 

We've marched together, hot and cold, 
We've messed, yes, drank - , together, 

Though oft the fiction lias been told, 
Twas only when the weather — 



RECEPTION TO PAUL VANDERVOORT. 213 

Too much swamp land had filtered through, 

Or dried up all the water. 
Was any soldier known to do 

Or drink what he'd not '* oughter " ? 

And forage ? No, we never did ; 

Believe it not, stranger, 
Unless some straying chick or kid 

Came in the way of danger. 

The war is past, but yet the roll 

To duty still is calling, 
Each day some overladened soul 

Death's scout is overhauling. 

Each on his beat must picket wait, 

Life's field knows no retreating, 
Till, challenged at the outer gate, 

His countersign repeating, 

He lays life's knapsack down at last, 

Life's charges all exhausted. 
Be this the tribute o'er him cast : 

" His scabbard never rusted. " 



2 , 4 DRIFTWOOD. 

One toast then, comrades, to our guest, 
Be never welcome grander : 

Be everywhere his mission blest, 
God speed our Grand Commander. 

May 5, 1S83. 



A U TOG R A PH. LINES. 



AUTOGRAPH LINES. 

IMPROMPTU, TO MARY 



From the cares that hedge thickly life's troublesome way, 
May your pathway forever be free, 

And cloudless your sky as o'er midsummer's day, 
As your life bark sails over its sea. 

And when the gray twilight of evening appears, 

May its coronet star to the night 
Bring happy reflections of good through the years, 

And guide you still on by its light. 

May blessings more rare than the treasures of earth 

To the hopes of the toiler impart, 
The wealth that compensates the soul for its worth 

Be yours for your goodness of heart. 

Fond du Lac, Wis., Oct., 1881. 



2x6 DRIFTWOOD. 



SAINT MARGARET.* 

From that bright zone which belts the space 
Where dwell the angels of our race, 
The glory of whose shining bars 
Exceeds the radiant light of stars, 
There came one; day, with noiseless tread, 
( )ne who had joined the so-called dead. 
And <>Vr each well accustomed place, 
The yearning spirit's eager trace 

Swept light o'er all, and strong and tender, 
He clasped a maiden fair and slender ; 
Fairest of fair was her sweet young face. 



* To Mrs. E. I'-. (rocker (" Aunt Margaret"), who built a conservatory 
for flowers at the cemetery in Sacramento, that the poor might have 
flowers free to scatter above the dead. Written for reading at a floral 
festival tendered t<> her by the city of Sacramento, May 6, 1SS5. 



SA [NT MARGARET. 2 1 ;• 

And o'er the lily bloom of health 

And tint of lips, there came by stealth 

The pallor o'er the flush of pain, 

Till as the snow untouched of stain, 

Transfixed among - that saintly host, 

She who by all was loved the most 

Ere she became an earthly bride, 

Became the bride of death, and died. 
And who shall say but that spirit lonely 
Had need of the comfort of this flower only, 

To twine his own with her love's rich wealth ? 

And far away that tearful train 

Crossed mountain and wide stretch of plain, 

That she, asleep, at last might lay 

In that loved home for one brief day, 

And then forever find repose 

Where Sacramento murmuring flows, 

And flowers perpetual bloom above 

The casket hallowed by such love. 

Thus loving and tender they bore the maiden, 
With hearts and with lids with tears o'erladen, 

Fairest of fair, to her home again, 



2i8 DRIFTWOOD. 

Among her birds and books and flowers, 
Where passed her childhood's happy hours, 
Where pictured, heavy hung the walls, 
In boudoir and in spacious halls, 
And all who knew her tribute paid. 
The poor who loved the gentle maid 
Bowed low their heads and breathed a prayer 
Of benediction o'er her there, 

Beautiful still and so sweetly sleeping, 
One angel more her love-watch keeping, 
Radiant and pure in the heavenly bowers. 

Each day the mother's loving care 
Bestrewed the grave with blossoms rare, 
And as they fell with fragrant cheer, 
Her angel seemed to draw more near. 
And near the flower-strewn mound one day, 
An humble cortege wound its way. 
One meager tribute there was laid 
Upon the mound but newly made. 

A kindred sorrow makes one human. 

The heart of this noble, loving woman 
Was moved in their sweet, sad grief to share. 



SA INT MA RGARET. 219 

She saw them bowed with grief's regret. 

" What boon can make despair forget ? " 

She asked. "To this bright home of ours, 

For these a transport build of flowers,"' 

Whispered a voice she loved so well. 

A pure white lily downward fell, 

And lay a-tremble at her feet, 

And tinged the air with odors sweet. 

The poor pray heaven, " All good defend her, 
May always the angels of light attend her." 

The angels call her Saint Margaret. 

San Francisco, May, 1885. 



220 DRIFTWOOD. 



AUTOGRAPH. 

ALBUM, MASTER LEE STEELE. 

Some think, to be happy and blithe and gay, 
And to never know care or sorrow, 

You never should try to do to-day 
What you can put off till to-morrow. 

But for happy-go-lucky (but, pray, don't tell) 

I would rather do nothing at all ; 
Still if one must do, why, to do that well 

And at once pays the best for us all. 

But the surest way out of life's troubles and pains, 

If to-morrow we wish to be jolly. 
And if in the end we would treasure some gains, 

Is to-day to keep clear of its folly. 

Merced, Cal., March, 1885. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 

As dark as the shore-hidden lake of A vermis, 

When storm-crouching clouds run the billows before, 
While a spectre leads onward wherever we turn us, 

Where, forever recoiling, the voice of the thunder 
Makes moan till the caverns seem riven asunder, 
Recur to my thought the strange visions of old, 
And the rhythm of the story tht sages have told 
Wails out like a sob on the night evermore. 

And backward we glance through the shadows that thicken 
With the smoke and the flame and the hurrying horde ; 
Where the carnage appalls on our souls till they sicken, 
And pillage leads onward its spoils to the slaughter, 
And breast of the babe and the virginal daughter 
Are bared to debauch ; and the bosoms of snow 
Lie trampled and torn, and the ebb and the flow 
Of the tide of the years in the tumult are heard. 



222 DRIFTWOOD. 

And the winds from afar bring the sickening savor 

From battlefields damp with the mould of the slain, 
Who fell in despair o'er a hopeless endeavor, 

Who died for a creed or a sacred tradition. 
And the rivers run red where a strange supersti- 
tion 
Appeases its god with the dimple and smile 
Of the prattler. While yonder the funeral pile 
Dyes crimson the sky o'er the orient plain. 

And red are the jaws of the tigers that, restless, 

Gnash sharp on the bars that confine in their prison ; 
And the whelps they have suckled arc fattened and zest- 
less, 
And sniff the keen scent of the victims advancing. 
The headsman's keen sword from its scabbard is 

glancing, 
And the shield of a Pilate is shimmering bright, 
And a halo of stars breaks the seal of the night, 
Where a crucified Christ is o'er Calvary risen. 

And down through the ages, when prophet or priestess 

I las lifted the veil from the terrible night, 
Consigned to their doom-haunted prisons, releaseless, 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 223 

Have died by the hemlock, the stake, and the gib- 
bet ; 

And the scourge of the bigot has rendered its 
tribute, 

Till heaven looking down through its numberless 
stars, 

Receding appears, and its crystalline bars 
Seem draped with the weeds of despair and of blight. 

An empire of woe, and a doom of despairing, 

With Death, the grim despot, crowned monarch 
alone. 
To destroy and destroy, with no hopeful repairing, 

For the hope-slayer builds never transport from 

sorrow, 
illumines no tomb with a happier morrow, 
But in living, to perish, in death after death, 
With the rolling and seething and sulpnurous 
breath 
Of Inferno, while Pluto exults on his throne. 

With weeping is fretted the heart of the human, 

The tears that undo not the fetters of wrong. 

What profit the anguish and travail of woman, 



224 DRIFTWOOD. 

When the sons she has borne and her bosom has 

nurtured 
Are sold like the beast, and are driven and tor- 
tured, 
Pursued through the cypress, and mourn and en- 
treat 
To the night, while close at the fugitives' feet 
The bay of the bloodhound sounds dismal and long? 

Thus backward in shadow my sad soul, reviewing, 

Wove dark in the background the woof of the old, 
With naught but the sorrowful measure construing, 

And all discontent that my thought could en- 
gender ; 
And naught in the present seemed blissful and 

tender. 
Then the plume of a sceptre my vision o'er- 

drew ; 
An angel rebuked me, "See, here is the new ! " 
And traced on the meshes in letters of gold. 

And where perished the prestige of leader or nation, 
There uprose, like a phoenix, illumined and white, 
Transfigured in death, into life's consummation. 



THE OLD AND THE NEW. 225 

And they who have patiently suffered their losses, 
Have dared to be right, still enduring their crosses ; 
And they who for love of their fellows have died, 
Who with right on their shields have all error de- 
fied, 
As the stars, shine forever as guides of the night. 

Till upborne and upborne on the purple of morning, 
With shafts of gray splendor is illumined the day, 
And the wrecks of the ages in glory adorning ; 

Till in peans of gladness all nature is voicing, 
And the wail of the weeper is lost in rejoicing, 
And the mother croons low to the babe on her 

breast, 
"The angels will guard thee in peace to thy rest. 
Sleep, little one, sleep ; you are brooded alway. " 

For placid and blue is the ocean eternal, 

Where an island of souls lies forever and fair, 

Where the palm trees of hope blossom deathless and 

vernal, 

Where the sands of the ages in bright heaps are 

drifted, 

And the domes of the city immortal are lifted, 
r 5 



226 DRIFTWOOD. 

And white ships lift anchor, and pass and repass, 
Trail silent their sails o'er its bosom of glass, 
And the mariner knows never tempest or care. 

And ever and aye, when our hearts are aweary 
With sorrows too heavy for mortals to bear, 
And the desert of life becomes arid and dreary, 

When our hearts have grown bitter with constantly 

breaking, 
Lo ! our angels return with love's sweet undertak- 
ing ; 
And soft as the falling of snow upon snows, 
As the wing of the bee o'er the heart of the rose, 
Is the tread of their feet on life's love-lighted stair 

And we know that, whatever life's withering sorrow, 

The good shall survive, that our dead live again ! 
( )'er the darkest of nights wakes a happier morrow, 

And the wrongs of the old in the new shall be 

righted, 
And might with the right shall be justly united. 
The world shall have learned it is better to give ; 
Through cycles eternal the spirit shall live ; 
And forever the angels are walking with men. 
Sw Francisco, Cal., March, [8S5. 



LOVE NEVER SLEEPS. 227 



LOVE NEVER SLEEPS. 

Beloved, wheresoe'er thou art, 

In devious paths or distant lands, 
The sacred angel of my heart 

With folded wing beside you stands. 
When early o'er the eastern hills 

The gray sweet morning softly creeps, 
And bird songs break in joyous thrills, 

Her shrine is yours. Love never sleeps. 

When happy thou, her radiant smile 

Flings o'er me joy and hallowed peace ; 
If sad she finds your mood erewhile, 

My grief moans on without surcease. 
If high meridian marks the noon, 

When cares distract, and turmoil sweeps 
Down life's broad aisle, be this her boon,— 

To bless unseen. Love never sleeps. 



228 DRIFTWOOD. 

When purpling lie the western skies, 

In orient gold and crimson-tipped 
In sunset's glory-tinted dyes, 

While young night's scarf is passion-dipped, 
As, homeward, clover-cropping kine 

Seek covert, and contentment keeps 
In their corrals, so I to mine 

To pray for thee. Love never sleeps. 

When brooding shadows dark o'ercast, 

In midnight fretted o'er with stars, 
Waking, or dreaming o'er the past, 

Or future with its happier bars, 
From early morn to set of sun, 

Till midnight's dew distills and weeps, 
Till life through death submerged is won. 

Though dying, still Love never sleeps. 

San Francisco, Cal., July, 1884. 



CONTENTMENT. 229 



CONTENTMENT. 

You may talk of the rolling prairie, 
With its billowy masses of green, 

When a breeze o'er its surface is playing, 
It charms the beholder, I ween. 

You may sigh for a tropical Eden, 

With its fragrant acacia and lime, 

The shade of the orange and lemon, 
All the sweets of a sunnier clime. 

You may list to the swell of the organ, 
As its thundering echoes prolong, 

I have music that's sweeter and dearer 
Than the burthen of organ or song. 

You may long for the wealth of the Indies, 

May sigh for a casket of gold, 
But mine is a treasure more precious, 
Than all your vain riches tenfold. 



230 DRIFTWOOD. 

My home is a cot on the hillside. 

That slopes to the lake-beaten shore, 

And the races of snowy-winged vessels 

I can watch from my own cottage door. 

Not mine are the palm and the plane tree, 
But mine are the maple and ash, 

And they mingle their boughs on the hillside, 
O'er the margin where blue waters dash. 

And mine is the music of voices, 
Sweet little boy voices — two, 

With their four little roseate dimples, 
Four bright eyes of violet blue. 

And mine — shall I mention my treasure ? — 
Ah ! yes, for it truly is mine. 

And it fills me with infinite pleasure 
In devotion to bow at its shrine. 

For I know that beneath the wide heavens, 
There warms at the call of my name, 

A joy in the heart of another — 

Oh, Love is the treasure I claim. 

Clifton, Wis., June, i860. 
Calumet Republican. 



TO WINNEBAGO LAKE. 



231 



TO WINNEBAGO LAKE. 

'Tis pleasant to glide o'er thy clear crystal bosom, 
As Phoebus ascends o'er yon towering cliff, 

While pearls trickle down from our swift-plying paddles, 
And dancing waves kiss the smooth bow of our skiff. 

How fragrant the breeze through the cottonwoods coming ! 

How sweet thy soft cadence, ye murmuring rills ! 
How plaintive the echo, thou warbling minstrel, 

Of each dying note which thy feathered throat trills ! 

Oh, dear are thy waters, my loved Winnebago, 

And dear are thy banks where the night zephyrs play ; 

There first bloom the flowers that bid welcome the spring- 
time, 
And there the red oriole tunes his first lay. 

And down to thy sand-sprinkled shore after school hours, 
Come little bare feet, tripping light on the spray, 

And soft dimpled fingers, building castles of pebbles, 
Beguile the bright hours in their innocent play. 



232 DRIFTWOOD. 

And sweet modest maidens, all radiant with blushes, 
Find shady retreat by thy whispering wave, 

And twine in a circlet the wild forest blossoms, 

While, " wanton, thy waters their snowy feet lave." 

Oh, had I the fire of a poet to number 

The praise which is due thee, in eloquent song, 

And tune to the winds that sweep over thy surface, 
Bearing thy white crested wavelets along, 

Or paint the rich splendor of crimson and azure, 

Which heightens thy charm as the da}- sinks to rest, 

Or when Luna appears as the dim twilight deepens, 
To mirror her face on thy beautiful breast ! 

Let me sleep by thy soft swelling waves, Winnebago, 
When these limbs find repose in the slumber of death, 

Where the whip-poor-will's song breaks the silence of 
evening, 
And the summer winds woo the wild violet's breath. 

Clifton, Wis.. Sept. 1S60. 

Calumet Republican- 



TWO SIDES. 



233 



TWO SIDES. 

A knight in armor from the east, 
Proudly bestrode his noble beast, 
Attendant at a royal feast. 

High o'er the arch that spanned the way, 
Which caught the sun's reflecting ray, 
A glittering shield was hung that day. 

Another rider from the west, 
Also in knightly armor dressed, 
Approached, and guest saluted guest. 

Up spoke the first with gesture bold : 
" Sir Knight, God speed you, and behold 
How beautiful this shield of gold ! " 

" Ah, beautiful ! but you mistake ; 
The shield is of another make : 
'Tis silver, I my life would stake." 



33< 



DRIFTWOOD. 

" Indeed, Sir Knight, you do but jest, 
'Tis plain my eyes do serve me best ; 
'Tis gold, and there we'll let it rest." 

" Not so," the other hot replied. 
" You do my vision so deride, 
Your words imply that I have lied." 

And so each sentence drew more fire, 
Nor would they either one retire 
Till they had spent their deadly ire. 

And so it came about by chance, 
Each on his neighbor drew his lance, 
Nor recked the direful circumstance. 

About that shield they slashed and swore, 
Till, fainting, they could do no more 
Than welter in each other's gore. 

A runner from the castle's gate 
Cried, " Out upon such sorry state ! 
Indeed, you'll make the dinner late. 

" Excuse my breach of courtly rules, 
But when, good sirs, your anger cools, 
You'll both admit vou were two fools. 



TWO SIDES. 

"You could have spared this dire disgrace, 
Had you but changed each one his place, 
And met your host in better grace. 

" Again, if I may be so bold, 

That both were right each could have told ; 

That side is silver, this is gold.'' 

MORAL. 

'Tis ill-advised hot words to waste, 
The proof of right to clog with haste, 
For truth at times may be displaced. 

San Francisco, Nov. 30, 1S92. 



235 



216 DRIFTWOOD. 



MY HEART WOULD HAVE ME LOVE YOU. 

My heart would have me love you, dear, 
So warm its tender beating still must be. 

Humid my lids with the unbidden tear 

Compassion weeps, to veil your thoughts from me. 

You stand confessed before my soul's swift eyes, 
Yet make me weak excuses for your sin, 

A plunderer of womanhood's dear prize, 

And hedge your weaknesses her own within. 

So long your feet have wandered from the right 

You have forgot the ecstasy of love, 
That hallowed flame whose soul-illumined light 

Alone doth burn on matehood's shrine above. 

Than other men you are no worse, perhaps ; 

You should be better, with your sense of wrong ; 
You know the downward pits from virtue's lapse 

That wait on woman, and you should be strong. 



MY HEART WOULD HAVE ME LOVE YOU. 237 

You call that love which angels count as lust, 
Yet woo your angel household to your side ; 

Love's sweet companionship you trail in dust, 
While love's dear recompense is crucified. 

I count him not as guiltless who defiles 

The virgin birthright and love's wedded kiss, 

Who, dallying, speeds the wanton lover's wiles, 
Who scorns to wed, yet robs another's bliss. 

And so your soul, familiar grown with lust, 
Reads women all as those whom you consort. 

Makes you insult true wifehood with distrust, 
And all its sacred ministry distort. 

Think not my words are spoken to upbraid; 

My lips w r ould rather kiss away your stain ; 
But think, dear heart, each weakling that has strayed 

Lays on some mother's heart the sword of pain. 

To save your feet from treading out the wine 
The nightshade yields to poison life by stealth, 

Love should bestow affection deep as mine, 
To win your angel from your grosser self. 



J8 DRIFTWOOD. 

For her sweet sake whose anguish gave you life, 

I would a later pain for you endure ; 
If through the agony of love's keen strife 

My heart might break, that yours be made more pure. 

1 Jul 1 not know you better than you seem, 

I might in sorrow turn my face away, 
I !nt just above your passion's turbid stream, 

The rainbow spans where purer waters play. 

I stretch my hands above you and implore 
Heaven's holy ministers to guide your feet ; 

I, ill up your eyes to where they walk before, 

And throbbing stars in your new dawn shall meet, 

Melbourne, Victoria, Aug. 29, 1885. 



THE END. 



laoi 



